Every Thorn Has Its Rose
by Cke1st
Summary: The official histories tell us that the first female "captain" of a Longwing was a maidservant to Queen Elizabeth I, and that the discovery that Longwings preferred women was a lucky break. Unfortunately, this is just a bit of royal propaganda. The reality was somewhat less flattering to the Aerial Corps, and quite a bit more chaotic as well. This is a prequel to the novels.
1. Chapter 1

**Every** ** **Thorn** Has Its ****Rose**

 _A/N_  
 _The official histories tell us that the first female "captain" of a Longwing was a maidservant to Queen Elizabeth I, and that the discovery that Longwings preferred women was a lucky break. Unfortunately, this is just a bit of royal propaganda. The reality was somewhat less flattering to the Aerial Corps, and quite a bit more chaotic as well. This is a prequel to the novels. Rated K+, just to be safe.  
_

 **o**

England needed this dragon.

English breeders had been working for a hundred years or more to come up with an answer to the French, Spanish, and Turkish fire-breathers. They had cross-bred British, French, and Russian dragons in the hope of creating a good-sized beast with the ability to spit poison in meaningful quantities. At last, they had succeeded... they hoped. The size of this egg showed that they'd achieved the "good-sized" part of their task. As for the rest, that would be known only after the dragon had hatched. That event was probably hours, perhaps minutes away.

No one was taking any chances. They had erected a special barn near the Pen Y Fan breeding grounds so the egg could be incubated without being carried a long distance, and so the young dragon could not escape by accident. Two small furnaces, each manned by different ground-crewmen, ensured a steady flow of heat in that barn. No less than four likely young captains were housed in a small barracks nearby, ready to dash for the barn at a moment's notice if the egg showed signs of hatching. And, as of very early this morning, it was emphatically showing those signs.

The four would-be captains, Tufnel, St. Hubbins, Smalls, and Shrimpton, were standing in a loose square around the egg, sweating profusely from the furnaces' heat. Tufnel was the Corps' first choice to be the new dragon's captain. He was an experienced lieutenant who had served with distinction on Caveatemptorus. St. Hubbins was considered too flippant, and the other two too inexperienced, but the Admiral was taking no chances. He wanted to be sure the dragon chose a captain, even if that captain wasn't his primary choice. The candidates weren't considering those niceties; they were completely focused on the egg. Its occupant was methodically breaking through the shell from within, working its way around the circumference with sharp, precise blows.

"Has it got an egg-tooth?" Tufnel wondered out loud. He had been involved in the day-to-day handling of his father's estate before being assigned to the Corps, and he was quite familiar with how chickens hatched.

"He's got _something_ hard and sharp," St. Hubbins nodded. "Nobody knows for sure what he's got."

"I think we're about to find out," Smalls exclaimed. The shell shivered from one more blow, cracked all around, and fell aside in two equal halves.

"I'll give him full marks for style," St. Hubbins said quietly, but no one paid any attention. They were all staring at the new dragon.

He was a gorgeous shade of blue, with black and white markings on the edges of his wings and a hint of orange at the tips, and two prominent tusk-like teeth projecting from the sides of his mouth. He seemed disoriented for a moment; then he shook his head and looked around at the men staring at him.

"Is something wrong?" At the first sound of the dragon's voice, they all realized that "he" was actually a "she." That was good for the breeding program, and was no hardship for the Corps. They just had to adjust their pronouns when they addressed the dragonet.

"No, nothing is wrong," Shrimpton said quickly. "We have never seen a dragon like you before."

"Oh," she said. "So I am special, then?"

"Yes, very special," Tufnel replied. He picked up the harness, whose size had been determined by pure guesswork. "May I place this on you, and then get you something to eat?"

"Hey!" Smalls exclaimed. "Who made _you_ her captain?"

"She looked at me first," Tufnel retorted.

"But she's closest to me!" St. Hubbins interjected. The rivalry among the four men had simmered below the surface while they waited for the egg to hatch; now it was about to boil over. They all wanted her. Badly.

"Gentlemen, please," the dragon said smoothly. "There is no reason to fight. None of you is going to be my captain."

 _"What?"_ all four of them burst out.

"I am special, so I am looking for someone special to be my friend," she explained as she climbed out of the shell and looked around. "You all seem like nice men, but you do not have what I am looking for."

"May I ask what you're looking for?" Shrimpton wondered.

The dragon looked thoughtful. "I cannot say. I am still rather new here. But I will know my captain when I see him, and he is not here. I need to go look for him."

"Oh, but you mustn't do that!" Tufnel exclaimed.

"There is no need to shout, young man," the dragon scolded him. "I can hear quite well. Now, will one of you let me out of this structure so I can find my captain?"

"I... I"m sorry, my lady, but we can't do that," Smalls stammered, trying not to lose control of the situation. "If you leave here unharnessed, you'll go feral, and we can't have that."

The dragon drew herself up to her full height, which wasn't much yet, but she still looked powerful and dignified. "Go feral? I have no such intention! No respectable dragon would do such a thing. But I must find my captain, and inasmuch as he is not here, he must be outside somewhere." She looked around again. "I smell something good. Will one of you please provide me with some food before I go? I am very hungry."

"We'll do that," Tufnel replied, "as soon as you accept the harness. Please. It's the way these things are done."

"But if I wear that, I will be confined within this building and I cannot find my captain," the dragon reasoned. "I just hatched, and already things are becoming difficult! Let me think." She blinked her yellow-orange eyes several times. "If I stay in here, I can eat, but my captain is not here. If I leave, I can search for my captain, but I cannot eat. Or perhaps I can! There must be food outside somewhere. That settles it. I must go." She faced the door and, without hesitation, fired three quick spurts of acid from her side-teeth. Every man in the building threw himself to the floor in a panic, convinced that the dragon had gone out of control. But her wrath and her acid were aimed solely at the hinges of the door. Those hinges dissolved within seconds with a ghastly hissing noise. The door dropped an inch straight down to the floor, then slowly fell outward and landed flat, allowing the pale Welsh sunlight into the barn.

"That is much better," the dragon said contentedly as she stepped outside, oblivious to the consternation she was leaving behind her. She looked all around, stretched out to her full length, and flapped her wings experimentally. Smalls, who was closest to the door, couldn't help but notice that her wings were extraordinarily long for her size. Perhaps she'd grow into them as she got larger. But that was the least of their worries. Their main concern was to keep this priceless dragon from escaping into the wild. But how?

She noticed a commotion off to her left. A herd of cows had just been brought in to feed the breeding-ground dragons. They'd gotten one whiff of the newly-hatched dragon and scattered in a bovine panic. No one was left on the road but the milkmaid who had been driving them. She stood alone, confused and afraid that she'd be blamed for this. The dragon gazed intently at her for several seconds, then turned back to the men clustered around the entrance to the barn.

"That is not my captain, either," she said matter-of-factly, "but that is closer to who I am looking for. Can you bring me more people like that one?"

The hopeful captains were totally taken aback. "Uhh... no," Tufnel finally managed to say. "That's a lady."

"Oh, is that what they are called?" the dragon replied. "I had not heard that word before. Why can you not bring me more ladies?"

"Well... it just isn't done!" Tufnel stammered. "Ladies can't serve in the military, so they can't be a dragon's captain. It's as simple as that."

"Really?" the dragon purred dangerously. "Well, you do not seem to understand my position, so let me explain myself. I do not care a bit for your military rules. Either you bring me more of these 'ladies' so I can find my captain, or I will go out looking for them myself! It is as simple as _that."_

Within minutes, every man who could be spared had been ordered to ride or run for the nearest village and find any woman who was willing to talk to a dragon face-to-face. No one harbored any illusions about one of those women becoming the dragon's captain, of course. They just had to sweet-talk the reptile and keep her from flying away until the men could persuade her to accept the harness, and then choose a proper captain from among the assembled candidates. In the meantime, they kept the dragon appeased by offering her bites of freshly chopped meat, which she greedily accepted. They lured her back into the barn and kept feeding her until she put her head down next to her bloated belly and fell asleep.

By the time she awoke, it was after lunch time, and the men from the breeding-ground staff had returned with all the women they could find. All three of them.

The vast majority of the women in the nearby villages were married with children, and were in no way disposed to abandon home and hearth just to talk to an acid-spitting dragon. The few who were not so encumbered were not an inspiring lot. There was Josie Pye, a woman who made her living by being of easy virtue; she had little to do at this time of day, and was willing to try anything that might expose her to a wider clientele. There was Minnie Mae Barry, the miller's youngest daughter, who was (to put it politely) not the sharpest knife in the drawer. And there was Rose Smalls.

Rose was Lt. Smalls' older sister. She had moved to this village to help look after her brother, because she had nothing else to do with her life. Plain of face and sharp of tongue, her chances of finding a husband were small, and grew smaller each time she uprooted her life to follow her brother's postings in the Corps. Her father had spent her dowry on bourbon until the bourbon killed him, and her mother had sailed away for a new life in Canada years ago. She had no prospects in life at all. But she had often seen the dragons flying overhead, especially the ones on which her brother served as flight crew, and unlike most civilians, she was not afraid of them. This might be her best chance to meet one of the great creatures face-to-face and appease her curiosity about them.

They were led into the barn with many warnings not to be afraid, along with encouragements to keep the dragon talking and urge her to accept one of the proffered captains. Minnie Mae needed the warnings, while Josie needed the encouragements (she was focusing on the captains instead of on the dragon). Rose went in last. "Put in a good word for me," her brother whispered as she passed him.

The dragon swept her head along the line of women. Minnie Mae quailed and nearly fainted when the still-bloody muzzle passed near her. "No," the dragon said. She glanced quickly at Josie and repeated, "No." Then she gazed at Rose, who gazed right back at her. They locked eyes in silence for several seconds.

At last, the dragon turned to face the men, irritated. "Why did you not bring this one to me at the beginning?"

"Ladies can't be a dragon's captain," St. Hubbins tried to explain.

"Why not?" the dragon asked.

"It just isn't done!"

"Well, it is going to be done now," the dragon announced. She turned back to Rose. "Will you be my captain? I would like it if you would."

Rose had to gather her thoughts. The captains did their best to cut her off. "Ladies can't be captains!" Shrimpton protested. "You have to choose a man! Like me!"

"No, like me!" Tufnel cut in.

"The Admiralty will die of apoplexy at the thought," St. Hubbins commented. He'd already given up hope of being chosen by this eccentric dragon, and was trying to view the whole situation dispassionately.

"Sister, please don't do this to me," Smalls whispered.

Rose ignored them all. "There may be difficulties. For one thing, I have no training in how to be a captain."

The dragon snorted. "If those men can learn how it is done, then I am sure you can, too! What other difficulties are there?"

"Well... it will be hard for me to ride you in a skirt. I don't think I can ride a dragon side-saddle."

"That is easy!" the dragon replied. "You need to get rid of that silly, frilly garment and wear something sensible! Something like what the men are wearing."

"Oh, now see here!" Smalls burst out. "You can't be putting a lady in a man's uniform!"

The dragon swung her head around to stare at Smalls and flicked her tongue out at him. "It will become a lady's uniform if a lady wears it, will it not?"

Rose considered the matter. She was handy enough as a seamstress; the technicalities of the problem would be easy to solve. "It might take some letting-out here and there, but I'm sure I could make a uniform fit. I've washed and mended enough of my brother's uniforms over the years; I'm quite familiar with how they're made."

"But think of the complications when you're in the field!" Shrimpton argued. "You'll have to have your own necessary pit wherever you go! Some poor sod will have to dig one just for you!"

Rose wheeled to glare at him. "I am quite capable of using the standard necessary pit," she snapped, "and the first man who makes an unwanted comment will go _into_ that necessary pit, head-first!"

"She means it," Smalls whispered to St. Hubbins, who nodded.

Rose turned back to the dragon. "I'm supposed to ask you to wear the harness. Will you accept it from me?"

"Are you my captain?" the dragon asked pointedly.

Now _that_ was a question for the ages.

If she agreed, she would become the primary friend, guide, and commander to a creature that would weigh fourteen or fifteen tons by the time she was full-grown. She would become part of the Aviator Corps, a heretofore male-only organization that would resent her presence at every turn. Men would serve as her flight crew and ground crew, and would not take kindly to being ordered about by a lady. If war broke out, she would be in the front lines of aerial combat. Her brother would never forgive her for usurping his best chance at advancement.

She glanced back at the dragon, who was offering her a life and a friendship. She had no life, few friends, and no prospects as it was. Her brother had led her to believe that this was a special dragon with a promising future. That seemed like a fine star to hitch her wagon to. If she declined, what else would she do with her life?

"Yes, I will be your captain," Rose decided. Smalls turned away with an incoherent moan.

"Very well," the dragon nodded, and lowered her head. Rose pulled the harness over her head and down onto her neck, and fastened the buckles around her body, one by one. The harness was slightly oversized. If the stories she'd heard about young dragons were true, then this dragon would probably grow into her harness within a day or two.

The dragon wriggled so she could feel where the straps lay on her. "That is decently comfortable," she decided. "But I am hungry again."

"Then we'll get you some more food, umm... what should I call you?"

The dragon looked thoughtful. "I do not know my name. Will you give me a sensible name?"

Rose had no idea at all how to handle that one. She turned to the four disappointed non-captains. "How do I name a dragon?" she whispered to them.

"Call her whatever you want," Tufnel said flatly.

"It's customary to give a dragon a Latin name," St. Hubbins suggested.

"I was going to call her Gladius," Shrimpton said. "It means 'sword.' But that's a male name."

"You got yourself into this thorny problem, sister," Smalls muttered. "Now get yourself out of it."

"It's a thorny problem, all right," Rose had to admit. She glanced back at the dragon, hoping for inspiration. "Your side teeth look a bit like thorns," she decided, "and you have quite a prickly personality. Not that that's a bad thing." She turned back to St. Hubbins. "What's the Latin word for 'thorn'?"

The young man was their designated expert on Latin. "Spina," he said after a moment.

Rose turned back to the dragon. "May I call you Spina?"

"You may," the dragon decided. "That is a nice, short, sensible name. I will accept it. While we are talking about names, can you tell me what kind of dragon I am?"

Rose had no idea how to answer that one, either. "Gentlemen, can one of you tell me what kind of dragon she is?"

They gave a collective shrug. "She's the first of her kind," St. Hubbins explained. "No one has picked out a name yet. You get the privilege of naming her species, too."

"Call her a Spitter," Tufnel suggested. "It fits."

The dragon considered that. "Spina the Spitter? I am afraid I would spit by accident, just trying to pronounce that. Can you call me something a little less vicious-sounding?"

"Blue Beauty," Shrimpton said.

"Azure Attacker." That was St. Hubbins' suggestion.

"Cerulean Corsair," offered Tufnel.

"Longwing," mumbled Smalls.

" _Long_ wing?" Tufnel scoffed. "How unoriginal!"

"That sounds totally inane!" Shrimpton threw in.

"I like it," Spina decided. "It is not as pretentious as the others. I am a Longwing. Spina, the Longwing. Spina, the very _first_ Longwing. Yes, those names will do nicely. Thank you. Now, you promised me some more food?"

Rose looked to where the breeding-ground crew waited with a freshly-carved cow. "Yes, I see some food for you right over there." The dragon followed her eagerly toward the beef.

"Sister, I should warn you," Smalls said. "Dragons are really messy eaters."

"They can't be worse than you were as a child," she smiled. Soon she was popping chunks of meat into Spina's mouth as fast as her hands could move. The four disappointed young men saw that their presence was no longer required here. One by one, they slipped out the door. Smalls was the last to go; he waited until the feeding was finished and Spina fell asleep with her head in Rose's lap. The woman wasn't bothered by the gore at all. She was looking down at the new dragon with a surprisingly tender expression he'd never seen on her face before.

"Nicely done, sister," he sighed as he left.

Yes, the Admiralty was going to die of apoplexy when they learned about this. But, after some of their more mindless edicts and decisions, maybe a little apoplexy would be good for them. He'd missed the chance of a lifetime, through no fault of his own. But England had her poison-spitting dragon, and his sister seemed truly happy for the first time in years.

"Most people would hate to sit on a thorn," he mused. "Rose will sit on her Thorn every day, and she'll like it. Life is strange."

 **o**

 _A/N_  
 _I wrote this story because the idea popped into my head one day and wouldn't go away. I wrote it in one afternoon, during spare moments at work; that's what happens when an idea won't leave me alone. As I write this, I'm halfway through "Victory of Eagles," so there may be some things about Longwings that I don't know yet; be merciful in your reviews if I messed something up. This is my first contribution to the Temeraire fandom (I'm mostly a "How to Train Your Dragon" devotee); I hope you liked it._


	2. Chapter 2

**Every Thorn Has Its Rose** Chapter 2

 _A/N_  
 _This story was meant to be complete after one chapter. But people are hitting the "Follow" button and asking for more, and more ideas are percolating into my peculiar brain (dear). So I'm going to extend the tale. I have no idea how or when it will end;_ _ _I can't even promise_ if it will end. I'm writing these ideas as they hit me, and posting them for the amusement of anyone who likes them, without my usual promise of "I'll finish what I've started." Enjoy the story for what it's worth.  
_

 _My principal goal in writing this story is to try to recapture a part of "His Majesty's Dragon" that I loved, which is not nearly so prevalent in the other books: the sense of wonder. The first few chapters of the first book are all about the amazing discoveries that Laurence was making about Temeraire, and that Temeraire was making about the world around him. I loved that; I keep rereading those first few chapters, over and over. If you feel like I do, then this story will give you something different to read, which hopefully contains something of that same sense of wonder._

 **o**

The messenger from the London covert arrived at the Admiralty headquarters as the sun was setting. He left his sweaty, panting horse with a groom, snapped off a salute to the Marine guards at the door, and burst into the main office. "Dispatches from the north," he said to the first person he saw, a one-legged boatswain who had been invalided to desk duty. "Something here has the highest priority."

"I'll take them," said the boatswain. He quickly skimmed through the sheaf of papers and pulled out one in particular. "This is the one." He slipped it into a brown envelope and held it out to a boy who stood at the inner door. "Get this up to Admiral White at once. He has been awaiting this." The boy took the envelope wordlessly and dashed away to the Admiral's office.

Vice-Admiral White read the document and, true to Lieutenant St. Hubbins' prediction, nearly died of apoplexy. The report came from the head of the Pen Y Fan breeding grounds. It described the hatching of the much-awaited new poison-spitting dragon, and went into some detail about its appearance and its apparent intelligence. It had not flown away and it had not attacked anyone; that was good news. But the most important sentence was near the bottom, buried in a paragraph full of the new dragon's measurements, as if the author had tried to hide it:

"The dragon has rejected all the rider candidates, and has chosen instead one Rose Smalls, sister of Lt. Derek Smalls."

The admiral read the sentence four times, trying to make sense of it. He could not recall a Lt. Rose being sent to the breeding grounds. Perhaps "Rose" was a misprint of "Ross?" But he did not remember a Lt. Ross, either. Perhaps the writer meant "master" instead of "sister" and had absently written the wrong word? He puzzled over it for five or six minutes, his temper slowly rising, before he finally burst out of his office.

"Blithering idiots!" he exclaimed to his secretary. "They can't even file a proper hatching report without making twenty mistakes and leaving the whole mess meaningless! I knew I should have gone up there myself. Well, better late than never. When is the next courier dragon due to arrive?"

"Amadeus is due to land around midnight," the young man replied as he glanced at a chalk board on the wall. "But Julius arrived within the hour, and he is probably still at the covert. I presume you wish to use him as transportation to the breeding ground?"

"Julius? The orange Winchester? Why in the bloody blue blazes would the dragon still be there?" the admiral demanded. "Doesn't the confounded rider know that we run our courier service on a time schedule?"

"The rider, Ensign Keaggy, is a temporary captain, following Lt. Prince's untimely death by drowning," the secretary said as tactfully as he could. "As for the dragon, he has a known peculiarity. He insists on taking a huge drink of water immediately after a long flight, and is then unwilling to fly again until the water has settled in his system. No threats or discipline have availed against this habit of his. The dragon is surely still on the ground as we speak."

"So orange Julius is always up for a devilishly good drink, you say," White spat. "And no one can get him moving? Botheration! Is this any way to run a Corps? Get me my carriage. No, preparing a carriage will be too slow; get me a horse. I think I still remember how to ride." He was soon trotting up the roads that led to the covert. Sure enough, Julius was still there.

"Sir, our next destination is Land's End, not Pen Y Fan," Ensign Keaggy tried to protest.

 _"Ensign,_ there has been a change in your schedule," the admiral growled. "Your next destination is now the Pen Y Fan breeding grounds. Will this pose so many difficulties that I will be forced to find another rider for this dragon?"

"No, sir," the ensign gulped.

"Please do not do that," the dragon cut in, swinging his mottled-orange head down to look the Admiral in the eye. "I think I like this man."

"You are content with him as your captain?" White asked, shifting suddenly from his command growl to a more hopeful tone.

"I still miss Lieutenant Prince," Julius said wistfully, "but Keaggy is nice to me and he is not full of himself. I like him better than the others."

"Very well, then, Julius," the admiral nodded. "You have a new captain. I shall issue the necessary orders in the morning." He turned back to the dragon rider. "As I was saying, _Lieutenant_ Keaggy, will there be any problems taking me to the Pen Y Fan breeding grounds tonight?"

"No, _sir!"_ the newly-promoted lieutenant exclaimed, puffing his chest out. "Julius, can we lift off at once?"

"I would like to settle my stomach some more, if you please," the dragon answered. "I took an especially big drink this time."

"You said that half an hour ago, you liquid-loving lizard! The Admiral wants us to go _now._ And Admirals are supposed to get whatever they want!" _  
_

"Just five more minutes? Please?" the dragon pleaded.

White pulled out a pocket timepiece and looked at it. "You may have your five minutes," he rumbled, "and not a second more. If we are not in the air in _six_ minutes, you will drink nothing for an _hour_ when we land!" Admiral White had always been good at motivating dragons and their riders, and he had not lost his touch. Julius shook out his harness, exclaimed, "All lies well!" and they were aloft well before the Admiral's six-minute deadline. It was nearly midnight when they finally arrived, and the Admiral had to get some sleep before he confronted the men who had filed such a sloppy report about so vital a subject.

As the sun rose, the Admiral took a quick breakfast and marched out to the newly-built barn and barracks on the edges of the breeding grounds. He stopped at the barracks first. "Which one of you is Smalls?" he roared.

"That would be me, sir," Smalls exclaimed as he leaped to his feet, his cribbage game with Lieutenant St. Hubbins forgotten.

The admiral slowly strode over to the slightly taller man. "I have received a report about this new dragon of ours," he said icily. "It has been reported that the dragon rejected all of my choices for his commander, and he chose someone by the name of Rose Smalls instead. Can you shed some light on this matter?"

"That is exactly what happened, sir," Smalls said carefully, "except the dragon is a 'she,' not a 'he.'"

"Thank you for that useful intelligence, _Lieutenant,"_ the admiral growled. "As if that had anything whatsoever to do with the useless, incomplete report I received about the hatching! I expect better information than _that_ when the survival of the Corps and the Empire are at stake! Where the devil is Lt. Tufnel?"

"He is helping to weigh and measure the dragon, sir," Smalls answered formally, snapping to attention. "Out in the barn, sir."

"I see," White said. "And why, may I ask, are _you_ not helping to weigh and measure the dragon?"

"I meant to, sir, but only one man was necessary, and Lt. Tufnel pulled rank on me. Sir."

The admiral glared at him. "The last time I looked, it took at least two men to weigh and measure a dragon, even a very small one."

"Yes, sir, that is true, sir, but Lt. Tufnel and Rose have the matter well in hand, sir."

"And that is another matter that confounds me," White rumbled. "Who is this Lt. Rose, or Ross, or whatever his name is?"

Smalls began to redden. "Sir, I admit this is most irregular..."

"Irregular? This entire wretched _affair_ is irregular, and may the devil take everyone involved with it!" the admiral exploded; Smalls flinched back and resumed his position of attention. White went on, "I suppose the only way I shall get the facts is if I get them myself! Believe me, there are going to be some changes made in the running of this breeding ground! For now, where is this irregular barn that contains this irregular dragon and its irregular rider?"

"Follow me, sir, if you please," Smalls said, and turned for the door without waiting to see if the admiral meant to follow him. He heard the firm footsteps behind him and slightly relaxed as he realized he had guessed right. He led the admiral to the barn, stepped aside, and gestured to the open door. He had no intention of going in there and facing the explosion that was about to occur.

Admiral White stepped into the barn and looked around. There were two furnaces in the corners, an empty egg-hatching box in the middle, and no sign of anything or anyone else. He turned back to Smalls. "Are you _certain_ this is where I should find our new dragon?" he asked, with a deadly edge in his voice.

"They may have stepped out the other doors, sir," Smalls suggested formally. "They need to measure the dragon's wings, and she cannot spread them indoors comfortably anymore."

"That sounds deucedly large for a newly-hatched middleweight," the admiral muttered as he approached the large doors on the other side of the barn. One of the doors was lying on the ground, with some char marks where the hinges should have been. He would speak to the builders of the barn about their shoddy workmanship later, but for now, he wanted answers. He stepped through the open door. Smalls crept into the barn as the admiral left, so he could keep an eye on the situation.

Admiral White got no answers from his first glimpse of the dragon. She was every bit as blue as the report had suggested, and the description of her markings was also accurate. She was standing in the open with her wings stretched out, and those wings were almost as long as those of a full-grown middleweight. Either she would grow into them as she got bigger, or she was going to have the highest wing-to-length ratio of any dragon in the Corps.

Two people were measuring those wings, one at a time, with a tape measure. He recognized Lt. Tufnel at once; he had served with the young man's father for years, and had guided the son's career. The other person... his jaw dropped.

"A _lady?_ Working with Her Majesty's newest dragon? What in the name of all that is holy is going _on_ here?" he demanded.

Tufnel glanced toward him. "Admiral White, sir! We weren't expecting you. We were just measuring the new dragon's wings. They are quite extraordinary."

"I can see that," White snapped. He turned to the other person. "Young lady, I do not know what you're doing here, but this is a military matter on a military installation. You may go."

The woman glared back at him. "I choose to stay," she said flatly.

As he had risen through the ranks, the admiral had grown less and less accustomed to being contradicted. He tried to maintain his composure. "Madam, you have no business here. I do not wish to have you escorted off this base by force, but if I must summon the guards, I shall not hesitate to do so. You may go. _Now."_

"She is not going anywhere unless she wishes to go," the dragon interjected in a firm female voice. "Who are you, to order her about?"

He turned to the dragon, not wanting to antagonize her, but not willing to be spoken to in such a disrespectful manner. "I do not believe we have been introduced," he said.

Smalls cleared his throat as he watched from just inside the barn. "Spina, this is Vice-Admiral Jack White, the commander of the Aviator Corps. Sir, this is Spina, our first Longwing. And this..." He took a breath to gather himself. "...this is my sister Rose."

"Admiral," Rose said with a quick nod of her head and the barest suggestion of a curtsy. Her attention was entirely on the dragon. She knew she would face opposition to her friendship with this amazing creature, but she did not think it would start this fast.

"Pleased to meet you, I suppose," the dragon responded, then turned to Rose. "Was that the correct thing to say? I never greeted an admiral before."

The only sounds to be heard were some distant crickets and the sound of the admiral's breathing as he struggled to maintain his failing composure.

"You are Rose Smalls?" he finally demanded.

"That is the name they gave me at my christening," she replied, with fire beginning to grow in her eyes. This man's attitude was rubbing her the wrong way already. "No one has offered me any reason to change it."

He turned to the dragon. "So my report was _not_ mistaken, incredible though that seems. Am I to understand that you have chosen this... this _lady_ to be your _captain?"_

"That is the fact, Jack," she answered evenly.

"That is Admiral White, _sir,_ to you!" he exploded.

"There is no need to shout, Admiral White, _sir!"_ Spina shot back, unintimidated. _  
_

"Apologies, sir," Tufnel cut in. "We have not had time to explain military etiquette to her."

"We have had our hands quite full merely persuading her to stay on the breeding ground, sir," Smalls added.

The admiral had had enough of this anarchy. _"Atten- shun!"_ he bellowed in his best parade-ground voice. Smalls and Tufnel both snapped to attention. Rose stayed as she was, unsure what her response ought to be. The dragon swung her head from the admiral to her captain.

"Does 'military etiquette' mean he must bellow so loudly?" she asked. "I do not think I approve of this man."

"Your approval is not necessary, dragon, only your obedience," the admiral snapped. He tapped the fringed epaulets on the shoulder of his green jacket. "Do you know what these epaulets mean?"

The dragon leaned over to examine them closely. "They look like gold," she decided, "but I do not think they are real gold. I hope you did not pay too dearly for them. Still, they are very pretty. Do you think I could –"

 _"ENOUGH!"_ the admiral roared.

The dragon did not roar back. She just growled, deep in her chest. Her torso was not quite the size of an Irish wolfhound, and her neck at full extension was barely taller than the Admiral. Yet there was a powerful sense of menace about this day-old dragon that even an admiral could not ignore. This was a young dragon, and an undisciplined one at that. He could not count on military order to rein in this dragon, or even to ensure his own safety. His current course of action was getting him nowhere except into trouble.

He stepped back and turned his head to face Rose. "If you are really this dragon's captain, then order her back into the barn."

She glared back at him. "By what authority do you give me orders, Admiral?"

"I am a Vice-Admiral and the Commander of the..." and his voice trailed away. It didn't matter who or what he was. She was a civilian. He had no legal authority over her at all, and she knew it. He turned back to the dragon and tried a different tack. "You are a member of the Aviator Corps. As your superior officer, I am ordering you to stand down and return to that barn so we can discuss this situation."

"I do not recall joining this Aviator Corps of yours," Spina said thoughtfully. "I have not volunteered and I do not remember being conscripted. By what authority do you give _me_ orders, Admiral White, sir?"

"I can see that these hatching-ground officers have taught you nothing at all," White said tightly. "You are a dragon. By law, all English dragons belong to the Corps, and are legally bound to obey all orders from their superiors."

"I do not recall giving my assent to that law, either," she challenged him. "Suppose I refuse?"

"I have many options, and you will find all of them unsavory. In the worst case, I have the authority to order your food supply cut off if you refuse to obey. Do not force me to do that to you."

Spina turned to Rose. "Is this man's food my only option? Are there no cows or pigs wandering loose that I could eat?"

"There are many animals wandering loose," she answered carefully, "but they all belong to someone. If we just took them, that would be stealing. We don't want to do that. They'd put me in jail, and we would be separated."

"So I have to obey this loud man, or go hungry?" Spina asked unhappily.

"He won't starve you," Rose decided. "You are a special dragon, and a very important one. He won't do anything that might harm your growth. Still, he could make our lives very difficult if he so chose. It might be best to hear what he has to say. _If_ he asks nicely!"

The admiral folded his arms and glared at them. "I am not in the habit of turning my orders into suggestions."

Rose folded her arms and glared right back at him. "Then we are at an impasse, Admiral."

"You realize, of course, that by encouraging this creature to mutiny, I could have you hanged for treason." It wasn't a question.

That took some of the color out of Rose's cheeks, but she didn't waver. "I have encouraged nothing of the kind, Admiral. She came out of the shell with a strong will, and an unbroken one. Your own officers are witnesses to this. All I have done is to check her impulse to fly away on her own, to persuade her to accept the harness, and to help care for her. For which of these crimes do you intend to hang me?"

Spina swung her head around until it was right next to Rose's head. "And if you do _anything_ unpleasant to my captain, then you may count on my complete disobedience to your orders, from now until my final day! I am not impressed with how loudly you shout, or with how much false gold you wear. There is no way you can contain me, or keep her from me – I think my acid can eat through anything, even solid stone, if I work at it."

Admiral White mastered his initial urge to bellow, his follow-on urge to shout for the guards, and his third urge to turn on his heel and leave. All he could do was stand and glare at this insolent duo, one of whom England could not do without. A day-old dragon and a civilian woman, defying the might of the Admiral of the Aviator Corps! If he could not bring this situation under control, and quickly, it could cost him his command. How he might do it, he had no idea whatsoever.

"Sir," Lt. Smalls said hesitantly, "may I make a suggestion?"

White shook his head disgustedly. "A lieutenant telling an admiral what to do. Outrageous! But then, this entire situation is outrageous. Yes, by all means, Lieutenant, what is your suggestion?"

"It occurs to me, sir, that you could give my sister orders and compel her obedience if she was a member of the Corps."

"A woman," the admiral said mockingly. "A woman as a member of the Aviator Corps. Why not? I have already seen so many other impossible things today. Perhaps I should give the dragon rank at the same time, and the epaulets to match!"

"Oh, would you?" Spina exclaimed. "That would be wonderful! But could you make them real gold, instead of the false ones that you wear?"

He ignored her with a supreme effort of will, and glared at Rose again. She was of average height and build, which meant she would never intimidate any man in the Corps. But she was standing almost cheek-to-cheek with the most dangerous dragon in England, without a trace of fear. She had already rendered significant service to the Corps, simply by keeping this priceless dragon from flying away. She was intelligent, and her association with her brother meant that she already knew something of how a military organization functioned. He had seen worse recruits than this one. But, still, a _woman..._

She was right; they were at an impasse. He took a deep breath and broke that impasse wide open.

"Her Majesty authorizes me, in times of national need, to conscript certain useful individuals into temporary service," he began. "England needs this dragon, so this is a time of national need. Therefore, I, Vice-Admiral White of the Aviator Corps, commanding, am formally notifying you, Rose Smalls, that you have just become a conscripted member of said Corps, serving until the need is passed, with the temporary rank of Ensign."

Rose gasped. The situation had suddenly spiraled out of her control.

"Just an ensign?" Spina queried him. "Surely a special dragon like me requires a rider of higher rank than _that!"_

"You are correct," the admiral nodded with growing malice. "I appointed her an ensign so she will have to take orders from a lieutenant. And I am appointing Lieutenant Nigel Tufnel as your senior rider. Since you will take orders only from Rose, and since no high-ranking officer will lower himself to giving orders to a lady, then this is how it shall be: the Corps will give its orders to the lieutenant, and he will relay them to your chosen rider, and she will, in turn, pass on those orders to you. I trust that this resolves all questions of authority?"

"And if I refuse to fly with that man?" Spina challenged him.

"Then you shall grow very hungry."

Now Rose looked pale indeed. She turned to her brother. "Can he do this to me?"

"Yes, legally, he can, Ensign Smalls," he answered, with a hint of relish. "For the first time ever, you'll be _taking_ orders instead of _giving_ them!" He was secretly relieved that the Admiral had not chosen him for this assignment; as much as he longed to be this dragon's captain, being put in command over his older sister never would have worked. _  
_

Lt. Tufnel was momentarily nonplused by this sudden turn of events, but now he dared to rest his hand on the dragon's neck. He would command this amazing creature after all! "I will be giving you the orders," he said dreamily.

"And your first order, Lieutenant," the admiral added smoothly, "is for dragon and riders to repair to the barn, so we can sit down and discuss your feeding and training arrangements like gentlemen. And ladies," he added hastily.

Tufnel turned to face Rose squarely. "Rider and dragon, repair to the barn at once!" His command voice was a pale echo of the Admiral's voice, but it showed some potential.

"Must we obey?" Spina asked Rose.

"They have outflanked us," Rose said unhappily. "I'm a good Englishwoman and I know what duty is. Yes, we must obey."

"And what is duty?" the dragon asked. "It sounds like a small word with great weight."

"Duty is the things we must do when we would rather not," she sighed. "I suspect that we both shall be learning a great deal more about this. Come, my friend. It may not be so bad after all, if we go through it together." She rested her hand on the young dragon's shoulder as they all marched into the barn.


	3. Chapter 3

**Every Thorn Has Its Rose** Chapter 3

The meeting in the barn was not nearly as unpleasant as Rose had feared. The other lieutenants, St. Hubbins and Shrimpton, joined the meeting out of curiosity, and the presence of witnesses seemed to tone down the admiral's rage. He kept away from personal affairs and his own righteous indignation at the whole untidy situation, and discussed only those matters that pertained to a rapidly-growing dragon. He spoke of feeding schedules, and adjustments to the harness, and first flights, and the need for the young dragon to meet as many people as possible.

"A feral dragon might kill and eat a human if the chance arose, and with a powerful dragon like this one, we will not take any chances. Your dragon must be completely comfortable in the company of people, even such people as might antagonize her or make her uncomfortable."

"By which you mean yourself?" Spina asked. Her facial expression was unreadable, but Rose thought she saw a twinkle in the reptilian eye.

The admiral felt his temper rising again; he mastered it. "By which I mean anyone whose personality is not a good fit for yours. People who join the military must learn to get along with other people of all kinds, and so it must be with dragons. It won't do for you to lash out at anyone whose manner does not suit you. And I must include lashing out verbally, as well as physically, young dragon."

Rose looked thoughtful. "Then perhaps it might be best if I took Spina with me into the village, so she will grow accustomed to as many different kinds of people as possible."

"Into the village? Out of the question!" the Admiral blustered.

"It sounds like a reasonable suggestion," Spina said mildly. "I confess to being curious. I have never been in a village before. What would I see there?"

The admiral did his best to restrain his impatience. "Madam... I mean Ensign, you show no fear of dragons, and that is to your credit. But surely you must know that most people recoil in terror from the presence of a dragon."

"To say nothing of the horses!" Shrimpton threw in.

St. Hubbins added, "It would become a race to see who could vacate the village faster – the two-legged citizens or the four-legged kind."

"No, Ensign, taking your creature with you into the village would be a horrifically bad idea," the admiral finished.

"Very well," she sighed. She'd already known what kind of reaction her dragon friend would cause in the town, and she had actually been hoping for the chance to make it happen. That provincial little village badly needed a good shaking-up.

"About that restriction on lashing out verbally," the dragon protested. "I thought British subjects had a certain freedom of speech."

"That doesn't apply once we're in the military, I'm afraid," Rose corrected her. "And, due to circumstances beyond our control, that is where we are. Both of us."

"I am heartily glad that one of you, at least, understands that," Admiral White nodded. "Ensign Smalls, your own situation will call for some unusual accommodations, but the greater share of the accommodating must fall on your own shoulders. If you are accustomed to being treated like a lady, you can expect no such treatment as a junior officer in the Aviator Corps."

"I see," she nodded. "So if I cannot take Spina with me into the village, and if I am to be treated no differently than any other ensign in the Corps, does that mean I shall be quartered in the barracks from now on?" She had no desire whatsoever for such accommodations; she had been living by herself for years, and had no desire for a roommate, never mind four male roommates. But she sensed the inevitability of it, and rather than allowing herself to be forced into it, she took the initiative, just to see how uncomfortable she could make the men.

All four lieutenants leaped to their feet in horror. "Four men sharing quarters with a _lady?"_ Tufnel burst out. "It will be counted a scandal by all who hear of it!"

"There is no womanly privacy to be found in a men's barracks!" Shrimpton protested. "It would be miserably awkward for all concerned!"

"Tufnel will have to stop singing his dirty rugger songs in the shower," St. Hubbins added impishly.

"Sir, you cannot mean for me to share sleeping arrangements with my own _sister?"_ Smalls nearly begged.

"Gentlemen, please, there is no cause for alarm," Rose said soothingly. "You need not upend the world on my account. I will require only my own bed and locker, and a small partition in a corner where I may change my clothing; nothing more."

"But..." Tufnel didn't want to be too indelicate. "But suppose some blackguard comes in the night, and..."

"I have had some exposure to blackguards in the past," Rose said grimly. "I recognize them easily as they approach, and the rest of the world may recognize them by their bow-legged walk as they depart."

"And if she can't handle such a one, then I assure you, _I can!"_ her brother added heatedly.

"No, you cannot," Spina cut in, "because any blackguard who threatens my captain will answer to _me_ before anyone else!"

"It appears that my virtue is in good hands," Rose offered. "Perhaps more single ladies should join the Corps, for their own protection." St. Hubbins smiled at the irony; the other men shuddered at the thought.

"I will leave the specific arrangements to you who will share the barracks," the Admiral decided. "I will intervene only if you cannot reach a _modus vivendi_ among yourselves. I shall visit this place every week or two, to keep an eye on the dragon's growth. Lt. Tufnel, Ensign Smalls, I shall expect daily reports from each of you on Spina's progress. Will there be anything else?"

"Yes, sir," Rose said hesitantly. "I need to go into the village for a few hours. I need to collect my goods, and to dispose of such things as I shall no longer need."

The admiral gazed back at her silently.

St. Hubbins said, "Ensign, I believe you meant to say, 'I request permission to go off-base in order to clear up my personal affairs.'"

"Yes, it is as you said," she replied. Still the admiral said nothing.

"You have to say it, Rose," Smalls urged her.

"Oh, all right," she snapped. "I request permission to go off-base in order to clear up my personal affairs."

"Permission granted," Admiral White said easily. "I trust this will be the last time?"

"Yes, sir," she said tightly. "Like any good conscript, I am cutting my ties with the civilian world. It's not like I have many ties to cut."

"Very good," the admiral nodded as he rose. "There will be much consternation at Admiralty Headquarters when they hear about this, but that is not your problem to solve. Your only problem is to train this dragon... and this former civilian," he added cuttingly, with a nod toward Rose, "...in the ways and the discipline of the Aviator Corps, and prepare them for proper training at Loch Laggan. That is all." The four lieutenants and the newly-minted ensign stood at attention as he left, then relaxed, then stood and stared at each other, unsure what ought to happen next.

"I hope I am not being undisciplined," Spina said wistfully, "but I am very hungry."

 **o**

"Another five inches," Tufnel exclaimed as he read his tape measure. "The same as the other wing."

"Is that good?" Spina asked him.

"It's certainly unexpected," the officer answered as he rolled up the tape. "Your growth in length and weight is typical for a young dragon, or at least, for one as gluttonous as you are. But your wingspan and wing growth are without precedent. We had assumed that your long wings were a feature of your birth... I mean hatching, and that they would grow more slowly than the rest of you, so you would have normal proportions when you reached adulthood. This is clearly not the case. It would seem that 'Longwing' is a very good name for you and your kind."

"I am glad of that," she answered seriously. "It would be most monotonous to be known as an Average-Wing."

Rose stroked the wing membrane for a moment, marveling at its smoothness and tautness. Then she asked, "Spina, is there a reason you haven't tried to use these wings yet?"

"I am not sure I am ready for flight," the dragon said with a rare touch of nervousness. "My wings are so long... I am not sure my wing muscles are ready to flap them and hold my entire weight in the air. But you speak of 'my kind.' Are there any others like me?"

"Not yet," Rose replied. "You're the first of your kind. From your eggs, a new breed of dragon will arise!"

"That is a pleasant thought," Spina nodded. "Again, I have no desire to be ordinary. But what of you, Rose? Will a line of wonderful humans arise from your eggs?"

"No," Rose said as she turned away, blushing furiously.

"No? But why not?" the dragon wondered. "You are intelligent, you are not ill-proportioned, and you do not fear dragons. Surely some human male would be glad if you gave him an egg!"

"Spina... with people, it's not that simple," she stammered, humiliated that Lt. Tufnel was listening to this conversation. "It calls for a lifetime commitment, there are social and monetary issues, there are personal concerns... we don't just give each other eggs. On top of all that, I fear that no man will have me."

"Staff and nonsense!" Spina burst out. She had heard that expression last night and was trying to use it correctly.

"I think the word you meant to use is 'stuff,'" Tufnel corrected her. "Stuff and nonsense."

"Perhaps that is how _you_ like to say it," the dragon shot back, "but I have been listening to you officers talking about the absurd ways that military staffs make decisions, and it seems to me that 'staff' and 'nonsense' go very well together. But we were speaking of Rose's reproductive potential. If she offered to give you an egg, Lieutenant, would you refuse?"

Now it was Tufnel's turn to turn red. "Ahh... ahh... you must pardon me, I feel a sneeze coming on." He turned, hastily walked a few steps away, and sneezed, loudly and artificially. He kept walking until he was some distance from them.

"Now that is strange," Spina noted as she cocked her head and watched him. "The lieutenant seemed healthy enough a minute ago. If he is coming down with a sickness, I do hope he does not pass it on to you."

Rose tried to collect herself. "Spina, this may be hard for you to understand, but people don't talk about... eggs, and that sort of thing... so openly. The arrangements are made either by the couple's parents, or by themselves, in private."

"Oh." The Longwing considered this. "Very well; I do not wish to cause a disturbance. I will not talk about eggs and that sort of thing in public again." She brought her head down to Rose's level and whispered, "But I think you are unhappy by yourself. If I find a fine man for you, may I speak to you about him in private?"

Rose scratched the dragon's eye ridges. "Spina, I think you make me happier than any man ever could." She tried and failed to hide a chuckle.

"Humor?" Spina asked.

"I'm not laughing at you. I just find it amusing that you're barely three days out of the shell, and already you're trying to manage my nonexistent personal life."

"I enjoy arranging things," the dragon mused. "Does that bode well for my future? If I am thus when I am so young, then what shall I be when I am fully grown?"

"The Queen of England, I should think," Rose answered with an open smile.

 **o**

"This harness bothers me," Spina complained. "It is too tight in some places, and too loose in others."

"That is unavoidable, my sweet," Rose said. "The harness was made to fit hatchling dragons of all kinds. The buckles and straps can be adjusted to some extent, and I will fix them if you tell me where the need is."

"You mean... I am wearing a _used_ harness?" Spina was aghast.

"That is also unavoidable," Tufnel tried to reassure her as he felt along the straps for tight spots. "Hatchlings grow so quickly that it would be futile to make a harness for one specific young dragon. He would outgrow it in less time than it took to fabricate. So the breeding ground has harnesses in readiness for dragons of all ages and sizes. As one dragon outgrows his harness, another grows into it. It is a tried and tested system."

"But now I feel so _common!"_ the dragon fussed.

"When you are closer to full-grown, you will have your own harness, especially made for you and you alone," Rose promised. "But for now, this is how it must be."

"Is there nothing that can be done to make my harness special?" the dragon almost whined.

Rose began to speak, but Tufnel cut her off. "Ensign, I believe it is _my_ place to handle this. Spina, you _make_ this harness special, by wearing it. No other dragon of such distinction has ever worn it before, and none greater will ever wear it afterward."

"You are a smooth one with words," Spina said, not much mollified.

"Thank you," he nodded, completely missing her sarcasm.

After lunch, Rose returned to the barn first. "I've brought you something that may make you feel better about your harness," she said brightly.

"That seems unlikely," the dragon complained.

"Let us see what you think of this," Rose replied as she opened her fist. Inside was a man's gold ring. Spina instantly forgot all her complaints as she fixated on it. She sniffed it and tried to push at it with her nose. When Rose moved her hand from side to side, the dragon's entire head tracked it, as though her chin was connected to the ring by an invisible wire.

"Yes, it is real gold," Rose explained. "This ring belonged to my father. It is all I have left of him."

The Longwing roused herself to look up at Rose. "Then... perhaps you should not give it away."

"Staff and nonsense!" The phrase was becoming Rose and Spina's private catchphrase. "It is a man's ring; I can't wear it. And I think you will derive much more pleasure from it than I ever could." She looped a thin but strong chain through the ring, then fixed the ends of the chain to two of the buckles on the front of Spina's harness. "There! Now do you hate your harness so badly?"

The dragon craned her neck so she could see the ring. "Oh, that is just the thing! Thank you, Rose! Thank you so very much! That _does_ make a difference."

"Then it makes me happy as well," Rose nodded contentedly. "Now, if you will, consider _this_ possibility..." She whispered in the dragon's ear for half a minute.

They noticed Lt. Tufnel entering the barn. "Look, Lieutenant!" the dragon burst out. "Look at what Rose gave to me!"

"What's all this, then?" Tufnel demanded. "Are you making unauthorized changes to military equipment, Ensign?"

"No... sir," she replied with a mildly acidic tone. "I am giving a gift to my friend."

"Gifts from one service member to another are frowned upon," the lieutenant scolded her. "It breeds unwarranted familiarity, and suggests an attempt to curry favor."

"Really?" she challenged him. "All right. If Spina is a fellow service member, then what is her rank?"

"Rank? Don't be ridiculous!" Tufnel scoffed. "People have rank. Dragons do not. They are dragons, nothing more."

"Then the idea of me currying favor with her is just as ridiculous, isn't it?" she demanded. "As for familiarity, I doubt that Spina will like me better or worse for the giving of a small ring."

"She may like you better than she likes me," Tufnel protested.

"You need not worry about that, either," Spina said, with a passable imitation of Rose's sarcastic tone of voice. "The gold ring changed nothing. I _always_ liked her better than I like you."

"Is that the truth?" he snarled. "Well, we shall see about _that,_ blue dragon! If gold is what you crave, then I will _show_ you something! My family and I can do _far_ better than one small ring!" He stormed out of the barn.

Rose smiled and rested her hand on the dragon's neck. "I think he fell for it. You will soon have a multitude of pretty things to wear on your harness."

"That was a clever tactic," the dragon nodded, carefully resting a clawed forefoot on Rose's forearm. "I hope he keeps his promise. I like pretty things. But even if he gives me a bed of gold to sleep on, I shall still like you best."


	4. Chapter 4

**Every Thorn Has Its Rose** Chapter 4

The next morning, Ensign Smalls stepped out from behind her corner partition, wearing her newly-altered Corps uniform. The four men who shared the barracks with her took one look and were completely and totally scandalized.

Tufnel was the first to find his voice. "Oh, now see here, Ensign! This is taking matters too far!"

 _"Much_ too far!" Shrimpton echoed. "One word to the Admiral, and _this_ nonsense will be nipped in the _bud!"_

"I can see the logic in it," St. Hubbins observed, "but you can't pretend to think that Their Lordships will approve."

Lt. Smalls was the last to weigh in. "Sister, have you taken leave of your senses?"

Rose stared at them in surprise. What was the problem? She was just wearing the standard green Corps flying coat with white blouse... and cream-colored pants. Oh, _that._

She tried to reason with them. "A skirt or a dress is totally impractical for a dragon rider! Surely you don't expect me to ride Spina side-saddle, do you?"

"You could do so easily," Tufnel retorted. "Simply ride on the broad areas of her back, instead of astride her neck. It should not inconvenience you in the least."

Rose planted her hands on her hips. "And how am I to relay your commands to Spina if I'm seated fifty feet away from her ears?" she demanded.

Tufnel glared at her. "You cannot seriously suppose that, in the heat of aerial battle, the dragon will refuse to obey my orders directly? This ridiculous arrangement is strictly for peacetime, or until the dragon becomes sensible enough to recognize that she can have only one captain, and that one captain must be a man! A man like me!"

Rose bristled. "Are you suggesting that, when the Admiral conscripted me and made an ensign of me, he did not really mean it?"

"Of course he did not mean it _literally!"_ Shrimpton cut in. "Ladies do not ride dragons, ladies do not give orders in battle, and ladies _emphatically_ do not wear pants! Admiral White would not upset centuries of tradition, merely to appease your own vanity!"

"Well said," Tufnel nodded.

She stared at each of the men in turn. "Are all of you against me?"

St. Hubbins shrugged. "I wish to remain a neutral party in this war, thank you very much."

"I can't take sides," Smalls said helplessly. "I'm too close to one of the principals. I cannot pretend to be unbiased."

"That makes it two against one, Ensign," Tufnel snapped. "You are outvoted, as well as outranked."

Rose considered that for a moment. "But... if I am not really an Ensign, then you have no authority to pull rank on me."

Shrimpton had to counter her challenge. "If you are not really an Ensign, then take off that Ensign's uniform!"

"All right, if you insist," she smirked, and began to unbutton her shirt. All four men spun away, blushing furiously and exclaiming, "No, leave it on!" "I didn't mean it!" "Please don't take it off!" "We take it all back!"

Tufnel risked a quick glance and made certain that she had not disrobed. "All right, _Miss_ Smalls," he snapped, "this leaves us nearly back where we started. Your precise status in the Corps is undetermined, but you are still outvoted."

"Perhaps not," Rose exclaimed. "There is one vote yet uncounted!" She spun on the heel of her new boot and strode out the door. The men followed, but quickly spread out to either side of her. They did not want to be caught gazing at... umm... at that portion of herself that was now quite noticeable, thanks to her form-fitting uniform pants.

"Rose!" Spina exclaimed as she saw her rider approaching. "I am so happy to see you this morning!"

"You always say that, my special friend," she smiled. They rushed together, and Rose embraced the dragon's scaly neck, a gesture she made without a trace of self-consciousness or discomfort. She no longer had to kneel to greet her dragon friend; Spina was growing rapidly and was now somewhat larger than a draft horse.

"The _dragon_ is your uncounted vote?" Tufnel said from behind her in disbelief.

"She is a member of the Corps, subject to military order and discipline," Rose shot back over her shoulder. "There can be no argument on _that_ score! She certainly should have a say in this matter."

"What matter is that?" Spina asked, bending down so her head was at Rose's eye level.

"This is about Ensign Smalls wearing a man's uniform," Shrimpton began.

"No, this is about so-called Ensign Smalls having a part in the military chain of command!" Tufnel corrected him.

"So-called?" Spina looked puzzled. "I distinctly recall Admiral White telling my captain that he was making her an Ensign in the Aviator Corps. Was the admiral not telling the truth?"

"He was simply taking temporary action to deal with a complex situation," Tufnel lectured her. "He had no legal authority to induct a lady into the Corps. There is no precedent for such an action."

"Oh, I see," the dragon said, acting mollified for a moment. "So I will not be allowed to squirt my poisoned acid at England's enemies, because there is no precedent for that action either?"

"That's... that's not the same thing at all!" Tufnel protested.

"I fail to see the difference," Spina said, raising her head to its full height in order to glare down at him. "If we are to be governed by precedent, then nothing new must ever happen. If we are to be governed by military discipline, then the Admiral's orders must be obeyed, whether you personally approve of them or not. If, on the other hand, we are to be governed by common sense, then common sense dictates that my captain should wear a uniform appropriate for her duties. If that uniform should happen to resemble a man's uniform, what of it? I can see that she has altered the fit, to suit the differences in her own shape from yours; a man could not wear it comfortably. It is no longer a man's uniform."

"Ladies do not wear pants!" Shrimpton argued.

"This one obviously does," Spina answered him. "Can you not see them?"

"I'm trying not to look," Tufnel sputtered. "And another thing. You may cease and desist from referring to Rose as your captain. The admiral gave that position to me! Rose is nothing but... a special passenger, of questionable status."

"Now _you_ are the one who is not telling the truth," Spina objected firmly. "The Admiral named you to be my senior rider. He did _not_ call you my captain! That honor and privilege goes to the one to whom _I_ am pleased to give it. Rose will be my captain for as long as she lives."

"You'll quickly change your mind when your training begins," Tufnel threatened. "When you take your first flight, and your so-called Ensign is screaming in terror from the height and the speed, you'll think twice about taking orders from her, in battle or anywhere else!"

Now Rose was genuinely angry. "Is that your opinion of me, Lieutenant?" she demanded.

"The fairer sex is not known for its courage," he sneered. "Anyone who would stand on a chair and shriek, for fear of a mouse, can offer but little bravery when flying on a dragon!"

"I have _never_ acted in so undignified and cowardly a manner," she spat. "And if that's your opinion of me, then your opinion needs adjusting! Right now!" She turned, ran three steps, and leaped onto Spina's back, straddling the base of her neck. "Show me some height and speed, my friend!" The dragon understood her meaning; she galloped out the open barn doors, spread her enormous wings, and vaulted up into the sky. The shouts and protests of the four lieutenants were quickly left behind.

Rose Smalls had seldom been off the ground. She had climbed a tall tree once, to retrieve an errant kite that belonged to her brother, and she'd had to venture onto her family home's roof several times to patch leaks on rainy days when her father was too drunk to do it and her brother was away with the Corps. She had no fear of heights, in terms of the heights she knew, which were not particularly high. She knew she would fly with her dragon some day, but she was unsure how she would respond to the sudden absence of anything solid beneath her feet. Now that moment had come... and all she could do was to grip Spina's neck tightly with her legs, throw both hands up over her head, and shout, "WHEE-EE-EE!"

Spina looked back at her, startled. "Are you in distress?"

"No, I'm in Heaven!" she laughed back. "Go higher! Go faster! Don't ever come down! _This_ is what I was _born_ for!" Impulsively, she pulled out the pins that held her dark hair in a bun, and let it fly free behind her. Fly... free. If ever two words belonged together, it was that pair! She had never felt so free in all her life.

"I must obey my captain," Spina replied with an impish edge. Her huge wings bit into the air and propelled them faster, faster, until Rose had to squint into the blast of wind that their progress made. She held on tightly to the dragon's neck, but she felt no fear of falling off; it was simply to steady herself against the wind.

Then the flapping stopped. For long minutes, they just glided far above the earth. (They were barely half a mile up, but it seemed like miles.) There was no sound except for the air rushing past her ears. There was no sense of motion except when Spina banked her wings to change direction. The clouds seemed close enough that, with a little more effort on her dragon's part, she could reach out and touch them. She could see a flock of goats that looked like a moving carpet as they were driven toward the feeding grounds. A few dragons stirred from their caves as the goats approached; they were surely enormous, but from this height, they looked like mere children's toys. Her dragon's barn was a child's building block, and the four tiny specks next to it were the men who had been persecuting her.

"It's funny how some distance makes everything seem small," she said out loud.

"And the men who would control you can't get to you at all," Spina added softly.

"Spina, this is your first flight too! How are you feeling? You were concerned about your flying muscles. Are they strong enough for this?"

"I think... I think I waited far too long for this. As you said, this is what I was meant for. I am a creature of the sky!"

"You and I both," Rose corrected her.

"We fly together!" Spina shouted, then let out a trumpeting roar that startled all the dragons in the feeding area of the breeding grounds. They looked up, curious which dragon could sound so happy in such a miserable place. Then they returned to their meal.

Spina and Rose were gliding in huge lazy circles, first looking up at the clouds, then looking down on the earth below. Spina focused on the flock of goats. "Those goats all belong to someone?" she asked wistfully. "It would be wrong for me to take one or two?"

"If they're inside the borders of the breeding ground, then they're fair game for any dragon," Rose told her. "If you want to take your breakfast there, go right ahead. Just d–" Her breath was taken away as the Longwing folded her wings and dove at full speed.

"Don't hit the ground!" she gasped, and added as an afterthought, "And try not to antagonize the other dragons!" Spina had her own agenda, and while she narrowly avoided hitting the ground, her actions severely antagonized several dragons. She swooped and tried to take two goats, one with each forefoot, from a Malachite Reaper who had just cornered them against a steep stream bank. She got one and missed the other, so she continued her headlong rush and snatched another goat away from the mottled Greyling who was about to catch it. One dragon roared in anger, the other hissed something in Durzagh, but Spina was moving far too fast for either of them to catch her from a standing start. They turned back to the herd and tried to find something else to eat, while keeping one eye on the sky for a dragon with unusually long wings and no manners.

Spina landed on a hilltop and enjoyed her usual messy meal, leaving nothing but the horns and the hooves. Rose had a fairly strong stomach, and she felt like she had to watch or she'd somehow be playing into Lt. Tufnel's low view of women in general. But it was not a pleasant performance to view. "Do you feel better?" she asked when the last bite had gone down the dragon's cavernous gullet.

"Much better," Spina replied, then turned away and belched. "I do beg your pardon," she said, embarrassed. "Shall we fly some more? I like flying with you."

"Perhaps we should not overstress your wings on your first day of flying," Rose said thoughtfully. For a moment, she almost wished one of the men was here; they were far more familiar with the limits of young dragons than she was. "There will be many more days for flying together before we are done."

"But we may not escape from Lt. Tufnel so easily next time," Spina said petulantly. "I do not want to fly with him, even if it _is_ my duty! He is arrogant and he thinks badly of you. I would gladly be rid of him if I could, and I will gladly tell him so, given the chance."

"Oh, you must not do that!" Rose burst out. "He is the Admiral's favorite. If we displease the Lieutenant, then we'll have to deal with an angry admiral as well, and while I still have much to learn about admirals, I do know that an angry one is not pleasant company. I know it's hard, but please try to get along with the lieutenant, both for your sake and for mine."

"So what shall we do? Walk back to the barn?" the Longwing wondered. The barn was visible in the distance, but only barely. "That is a terrible distance to walk. It might take me the rest of the day to make it on foot."

"Then let us fly just high enough that you can glide back," Rose decided. "That should not overtax your wings."

"The lieutenant may think I've overtaxed them anyway," Spina said. "I think he is going to be angry if he sees us flying back."

"Do you know what? I think he's going to be angry at us, no matter _how_ we return," Rose said. Then she leaned up and whispered conspiratorially in the dragon's ear, "It was worth it!"

 **o**

 _A/N  
From the cross-country flying scene in "The Neverending Story," to the nail-biting Test Drive scene in "How to Train Your Dragon," to the terror-turned-to-triumph of Eragon's first ride on Saphira, everyone knows that your first ride on a dragon's back is wildly exciting. Laurence didn't get to savor that moment with Temeraire because their first flight was a life-saving mission in the middle of a storm, so he couldn't relax and enjoy the ride. But I've tried to capture some of that excitement in this chapter. How did I do?_


	5. Chapter 5

**Every Thorn Has Its Rose** Chapter 5

Spina and Rose had planned to gain a bit of altitude and then glide back to the barn, where the four Corps lieutenants waited. Rose was sure that Lt. Tufnel would be fuming if not furious at being left behind on the dragon's first flight. In his unusual position, perhaps he should have come along; maybe his anger was justified. On the other hand, Spina was nowhere near fully grown; she had been hesitant to fly before today, and Rose was by no means sure the dragon could carry two people at once yet. Rose, to be quite frank, didn't care, and Spina was actually glad to have left him on the ground. Now that their first flight was nearly done, they were about to face his wrath, and neither of them was in the slightest bit repentant.

They glided silently toward the barn. The four men were in a loose line in front of the door, one with his arms folded, the other three in relaxed poses. Rose suspected that St. Hubbins, Shrimpton, and her brother Derek were examining the new Longwing's conformation in the air, and were utterly unconcerned with who should and should not have ridden her on her first flight. "How do your wings feel, Spina?" she asked suddenly. "Are your muscles tired?"

"I can feel where I have been using them," Spina replied, "but I do not think I am too tired to fly. Still, I suppose I ought to rest before I do too much more flying." Rose felt them decelerate as the dragon lowered her legs for a landing.

They were close enough to the men to hear them now. Tufnel pointed at them angrily and shouted, "You two, get yourselves on the ground, _now!_ You have to be the most disobedient, insubordinate pair of –"

"I changed my mind," Spina said. When her legs touched the ground, she didn't land, but bounced right back up into the air again. "I think I can fly all day if I want to." They barely cleared the top of the barn and were soon high off the ground again.

"We'll have to land sometime, you know," Rose reminded her, although she was not unhappy with her dragon's change of plans. "We shall have to face Tufnel and endure his tongue-lashing. It's unavoidable."

"I think that _my_ tongue is fit for a far better lashing than ever _he_ could manage," Spina said indignantly, and flicked out her tongue for emphasis. "For days, they have been telling me to take my first flight. Today, I finally felt ready, I did what they asked, and now he is trying to scold me for it! How can I obey a man like that, or let him ride me?"

"It's called 'doing your duty,'" Rose explained patiently. "It isn't fun, but it's something we have to learn to do if we want to stay together."

"Would the Admiral really make me go hungry if I disobey the Lieutenant?"

"No, but he might take me away from you," Rose said. "That would be bad."

"I won't fly for anyone except you," Spina said firmly.

"Spina, what if..." She broke off. Should she say it? Yes, the dragon needed to be aware of _all_ the possible results of her actions. "What if they put me in jail for refusing to obey orders, and threatened to shoot me unless you flew with Lt. Tufnel? What would you do?"

"They wouldn't do that to us!" Spina exclaimed. When Rose didn't respond, she added, very quietly, "Would they?"

"You are a very special dragon, Spina. Their Lordships will stop at nothing to gain your services for the Empire. I, on the other hand, am troublesome to them by virtue of my very existence. The only thing that makes me special in their eyes is that you love me. If we cause them too many problems, they may decide that I am more useful as a tool to gain your obedience than I am as a dragon rider. Yes, they would do that to us in a heartbeat's time if we pushed them too far."

"Oh, dear," Spina said thoughtfully. "That puts things in a very different light." After a few seconds of silence, she decided, "Perhaps it would be best if we landed. The Lieutenant will have his say, but then he will be done with it."

"Yes, let us get it over with," Rose agreed. Spina put a wing over and they spiraled back down to the barn like a falling autumn leaf.

All four men strode toward them as they landed. Tufnel opened his mouth to speak, but St. Hubbins stepped in front of him. "Ensign, make your report."

Rose slid off the dragon's back and stood at something like attention. "Sir, the dragon flies well and powerfully, with good control. She says her muscles are slightly tired, but she feels able to fly for greater distances if necessary. She has eaten a meal from the goats that were brought to the breeding-ground feeding area, so she will not require further feeding today." She shot a quick, malevolent glance at Tufnel. "And the dragon's rider did _not_ scream in terror from the height and the speed."

"Thank you, Ensign," St. Hubbins nodded. "That will be all. You are dismissed. Get some dinner, and then attend to your dragon."

"No, you are _not_ dismissed!" Tufnel contradicted him. "There are some important matters that we must discuss first, starting with that pathetic posture that you are pleased to call 'standing at attention'! We are going to teach you some military discipline, even if it kills you!" Starting with the placement of her feet, he worked his way up, finding fault with just about every aspect of her carriage. Several times, he nearly reached out and repositioned her, the way any training sergeant would have done, but he stopped short of touching her each time. Instead, he snapped out precise instructions as to how she should hold herself, and waited with barely-restrained impatience until she got it right. The other officers watched silently. At last, Tufnel was satisfied with her position.

He stepped back and admired his handiwork, who was beginning to tremble with the effort of standing still for so long. "Now you look something like a military man," he said, without a trace of actual approval. "Of course, you are neither military nor a man, but that is an issue for Their Lordships to resolve. Your hair is disheveled beyond all reason, and you will deal with that presently. For now, you are in position to properly listen while I explain how many rules, regulations, traditions, and military principles you have violated today." He began reciting all those rules, regulations, traditions, and military principles in excruciating detail, along with examples of Corps members who had transgressed those rules and the price they had paid for doing so, and liberally mixed with repeated reminders that he was the dragon's senior rider and that she could ride Spina only at his sufferance. On and on he went, for fifteen minutes, half an hour, three-quarters of an hour. Rose began to lose her balance several times, but the moment she wavered, Tufnel would call her back to attention, correct her carriage, and resume his litany of her sins. Spina watched all this, desperately unhappy for her rider's sake, but unwilling to intervene for fear of losing that rider forever.

When Tufnel passed the one-hour mark with no signs of slowing down, St. Hubbins had finally had enough. "Lieutenant, I believe you have made your point," he interrupted. "Anything further will be lost on the ensign because she is no longer capable of listening. Ensign, you are dismissed."

"I am not even _close_ to finished!" Tufnel protested. "You don't outrank me; please do not interrupt this necessary training exercise."

"Actually, I was in the Corps seven months before you were, so I do, in fact, outrank you by a small margin," St. Hubbins said smoothly. He glanced at Rose, who was having difficulty staying on her feet. "Ensign, pray remember the lessons you have learned today. You are dismissed. Go get yourself a late dinner, or an early supper if you prefer." Rose nodded gratefully and limped away, trying to get her knees to bend properly after standing straight-legged for so long.

"May I ask why you contradicted me in front of the recruit?!" Tufnel was close to losing his temper. "You've undermined her perception of my authority over her! How can I make a point if she can turn to you to appeal my decision whenever I apply the pressure?"

"If you cannot make your point in the first ten minutes, you will never make it at all," St. Hubbins answered.

"That woman needs discipline if she intends to become a real Ensign in my Corps!" Tufnel burst out. "I mean, in _our_ Corps."

"Yes, she does," the other man answered readily. "And your desire to teach her is not misplaced. But the way you go about it will never succeed. She is not the only one who has violated traditions and military principles today. Tufnel, do you remember what your first days as a cadet in the Corps were like?"

"Like it was yesterday," Tufnel answered. "I think we all do. It was brutal, humiliating, filled with deprivations of all kinds, and generally designed to make us realize that, no matter who our fathers were or how much money they possessed, we were all on the same footing now – one step above nothing. It was from there that they taught us discipline and military skills."

"Altogether true," St. Hubbins nodded. "I, also, remember it well. And what brought us through that difficult time? Without family, position, wealth, or influence to fall back on, what kept us from breaking and running away?"

Tufnel searched his memory. "I suppose it was a fear of looking weak in front of the other cadets. I told myself, if they could endure it, then I could as well. At times, it was good that the other cadets were around. The trainers set us tasks that none of us could have managed, had we gone at it alone. We were compelled to work with each other."

"Quite so. It was teamwork that carried the day. We pulled together to succeed where, as individuals, we all would have failed. Unlike you, Tufnel, I come from a military family. My father fought in Africa, and he told me some stories about Army life when I was young, in order to encourage me to consider a military career. Do you know what motivates a man to rush at a powerful enemy, or endure unbelievable hardships, or perform other acts of courage? It is not love of Queen and country, or the glories of Empire. It is not a wish to win a medal or earn a promotion. No, the thing that keeps the military man going, when everything in him tells him to quit and protect himself, is the military man right next to him. He doesn't want to let his friend down, and he knows his friend would run equal risks for him."

"I'll accept that as true for now," Tufnel barely nodded. "But how does that relate to this situation?"

"Ensign Smalls is just like we were in those early days," the other man went on. "She is suddenly changing from a civilian into a military creature. She needs discipline; she needs to learn many things about her new life. The training must, by nature, be somewhat arduous. But where are the comrades who will encourage her to keep going when things are difficult? Will she see men like you and me as her friends? Hardly! Even her brother is no tower of strength for her; he is still too bitter about losing Spina. Rose has exactly one friend in this world: the dragon. And you, with your repeated threats to separate the two of them, are undermining the only source of strength and endurance she has! That will yield one of two results: either she will break and become useless to the Corps, or she and the dragon will close ranks together against us and become an irredeemable pair of rebels, and they _both_ will be useless to the Corps. From what I have seen of Ensign Smalls and Spina so far, I think the latter course is more likely. That would be a disaster of unprecedented proportions; it could set our breeding program back by three years or more."

"Again, I cannot dispute you," Tufnel said. "So what do you suggest?"

"Admiral White made you the dragon's senior rider," St. Hubbins answered, "but he did not place you in charge of this entire situation. He told us to work out our own _modus vivendi_ among ourselves. So, without undermining your position with the dragon, I think it best if I take over the new Ensign's training. I will be her instructor in all things military. That way, when she grows angry at her instructor as she surely will, she will not become angry with her dragon's other rider. This will reduce the friction between the two of you and enable you to grow into a useful team."

"It will be a cold day in Hades when I willingly accept a lady as a teammate!" Tufnel said angrily. "You and I both know that the Admiral did not mean for this arrangement to be permanent! He said it himself – Miss Smalls is conscripted temporarily, until the national need has passed."

"Do you see England's need for this dragon passing any time soon?" St. Hubbins asked pointedly.

"You ask the impossible," Tufnel said petulantly. "A dragon can have only one rider, the rider must be male, and because I am the designated senior rider, therefore that dragon is destined to be mine."

"I remind you that we have orders from Admiral White to make this arrangement work," the other man said. "I also remind you that 'that dragon' is sitting right behind you, listening to every word we say." Tufnel spun in a panic and found Spina just behind him, glaring down at him from her full height.

"Why must you be so hostile toward my captain?" she demanded. "Rose has never done you any harm. You ought to be thankful that your friend, the Admiral, has given you permission to ride me at all."

"Thankful?!" Tufnel sputtered. "Permission?! Why, of all the... you may be the most unreasonable creature I have ever encountered! Have you forgotten which of us is the lieutenant and which of us is the dragon?"

"I am quite aware of the differences between us," the dragon said drily, "and if you expect me to feel sorry for you because you are small, soft, pink, and flightless, you had best reconsider the matter." St. Hubbins tried to stifle a snort, and completely failed.

Tufnel whirled to face him angrily. "Can't you see what's at stake here, St. Hubbins? The most valuable dragon in England is one step away from open rebellion, and the only thing holding her back is a woman! An undisciplined woman who is equally close to rebellion! We need to take control of this situation before a disaster unfolds! Are you with me or against me?"

"Neither," St. Hubbins shrugged, "because the situation is already under control. It just isn't under _your_ control, and that's what is sticking in your throat. It's not about Spina and it's not about Rose; it's about you, and the fact that you cannot, or will not, admit that this dragon is not your personal possession. All of your conniving and your plotting and your subtle attempts to disobey the Admiral's orders will never change the simple fact that Spina has chosen Rose Smalls as her captain. And while Ensign Smalls is certainly lacking in military training and discipline, she is doing an above-average job of working with her dragon. _Her_ dragon, not yours!"

"Well said," Spina interjected. "I like the way you think, Lt. St. Hubbins. Could you be my senior rider instead of this one?"

"No, Spina, I can't," the lieutenant said with a slow shake of his head. "The Admiral's orders were clear, and we all are going to obey them. Tufnel is your senior rider. I will work with Rose and make an officer of her. Tufnel will help make a military dragon of you."

"Rose cannot do that for me?" the Longwing asked wistfully.

"Not until she herself has become a military creature," St. Hubbins answered. "We shall all work together so that we can inflict pain and suffering on England's enemies." He glared at Tufnel. "Not on each other!"

"Bah!" Tufnel scoffed. "If I could wash my hands of this unfolding disaster, I would do so. But, as you say, the Admiral must be obeyed. And I _shall_ obey, so as to set a good example for a dragon who has much to learn about obedience! Now, if you will excuse me, I believe my boots need polishing again." He stomped off toward the barracks, raising clouds of dust that stuck to his boots.

Spina shook her head. "Why must he be so difficult?"

"He had his heart set on becoming your rider," St. Hubbins answered, leaning back so he could look the dragon in the eye. "All four of us did, but he comes from a well-to-do family and is accustomed to getting whatever he wants. The rest of us are more accustomed to life's disappointments."

"So you wanted to be my captain as well?"

"Yes, very much," he admitted. "My wishes notwithstanding, you have made your choice, and while I do not understand it, I do not dispute it either. The situation is remarkable, but I accept it for what it is. Spina, I must occasionally be harsh toward Ensign Smalls as I train her, but please understand – that is because she is coming late to military life, and she must learn a great deal in a short time. I hope you will think of me as an ally and not as an adversary."

"You are a much nicer person than Tufnel," Spina decided. "If you were a lady, I might have chosen you as my captain when I hatched."

St. Hubbins sighed deeply. "Spina, you have just done something that no one else has ever done. You have made me wish that I had been born a lady."


	6. Chapter 6

**Every Thorn Has Its Rose** Chapter 6

"Rose, can you tell me something?"

Ensign Smalls was standing in front of the Longwing, wiping the dragon's bloody jowls clean with a damp rag. Spina had just eaten an entire cow at one sitting for the first time, and she was feeling full and quite relaxed. She weighed at least two tons now, and Rose could not possibly have reached her face, had the dragon not bent over for her.

"What would you like to know?" Rose asked.

"Why do the lieutenants tell you that you should not clean me up after I eat? They say you are wasting your time, and that other dragons do not see the need to be cleaned up. They say you are spoiling me. Is it a problem for you?"

Rose shrugged. "I like to see you look nice, that's all. I don't care what the other dragons think, and I certainly don't care what the lieutenants think! Do you mind it if I clean you up?" She carefully dabbed at a dried spot of blood on the dragon's left venom-fang.

"I like it," Spina decided. "Of course, I cannot see what you are doing, because I cannot see my own face. But I like it when you give me extra attention."

"I certainly don't mind doing that," Rose agreed. "But you're getting so big that any attention at all means extra attention!"

"Tell me something else, if you will," Spina nodded; Rose stopped her cleaning until the dragon's head was holding still again. "The men often tell me that my future task is to protect England against her enemies. I would like to know who those enemies are."

Rose stopped her cleaning. "England has had many enemies over the years. Sometimes we make peace with them and they cease to be our enemies. Sometimes a friend decides that they want to be our enemy instead. Our list of friends and enemies is continually changing."

"That makes no sense," Spina said with a shake of her huge head. "I like you, and I would never become your enemy. Tufnel does not like me; I cannot imagine ever being his friend. Can these other nations not make up their minds?"

"Think of it this way," Rose said after a moment's thought. "Suppose Lt. St. Hubbins suddenly started treating both of us with cruelty and disrespect. Would you still be friendly towards him?"

"You mean, if he began acting like Lt. Tufnel? Why, I suppose I would not count him as a friend anymore. But he would not do that. Why do nations do it?"

"Sometimes a nation will get a new king or queen who has different ideas than the previous one," Rose began. "Sometimes someone will discover a new land, or a new natural resource, that everyone wants, so we fight over it. Our principal enemy at this time is Spain, and Spain is angry at us because they want us to be Catholics."

"What is a Catholic?" Spina wondered.

Rose immediately regretted bringing up religion; it was not her favorite subject. "That means someone who belongs to the Roman Catholic Church. England used to be Catholic, but King Henry VIII had a falling-out with the Catholic Church leader some years ago, and he formed the Church of England and threw the Catholics out of power. Ever since then, the Catholic kings and queens of Europe have been trying to put down the Church of England and make us all Catholics again."

"Are you a Catholic, Rose?"

"No, I don't really believe much of anything," Rose said. "I was christened into the Church of England, just like most English people, but religion has no meaning to me. But one thing I _do_ believe is that no one should be forced to embrace someone else's beliefs. If the Spanish want to be Catholics, that's their business. But I don't want them telling me what I can and cannot believe. Most of the people of England feel the same way, and that's why we aren't getting along with Spain, or with their allies in France and the Netherlands."

"Do the Spanish have dragons?" Spina asked eagerly. "Will I get to fight them?"

"Yes, I believe they do, although the lieutenants probably know a lot more about them than I do. They have a heavyweight called the Cauchador Real, they have a nasty middleweight called the Flecha-del-Fuego that can breathe fire, and they probably have smaller ones that I don't know about. But because Spain is so far away from England, their dragons aren't much of a threat to us, except for our naval ships if they venture too close to the Spanish coast. The real problem with Spain is that they are preparing a fleet of over a hundred fighting ships to attack us, or to escort a huge convoy of soldiers to invade us; no one knows their exact plans." At Spina's disappointed expression, she added, "But some of those ships might bring dragons with them on their decks, so you will probably get your wish."

"But only if they come to us?" the dragon asked. "There is no way for me to get to them?"

"I suppose you could ride a dragon transport ship down to Spain," Rose said thoughtfully. "But that isn't going to happen. You're needed here in England to defend our shores when the attackers come."

"Why? Would it not be better for me to strike at our enemies on their own soil, before they can get near us?"

"If we always knew exactly where they were and where they were going, then that might work. But the sea is a very big place, Spina, and even a fleet as big as the Spanish Armada can disappear into the vastness of the ocean, and then strike us from any direction they please. No, we must stay where we are and let them come to us. Let them use up their supplies sailing from there to here; let their gunpowder grow damp from too much time at sea; let the hulls of their ships be slowed down by barnacles and other underwater growth. Then, once they are slowed and weakened, we shall hit them with our full strength, and deal them a blow from which they will not recover in our lifetimes!"

Spina blinked in surprise. "Rose, you sound absolutely bloodthirsty! Perhaps you have been spending too much time with me; perhaps my draconic attitude is rubbing off on you."

"Perhaps," Rose nodded. "I know that, when the Spanish come, you will be sent to meet them, whether anyone else thinks you are properly ready or not, and I will ride you into battle. Being ladylike will not help you at that time, and it will not help England. I need to set aside any ladylikeness that is in me, and become just as bloodthirsty as any dragon, in preparation for that day. Nothing less will serve England."

"Will that be hard for you?" the dragon wondered. "Are you ladylike by nature?"

"Hardly!" Rose answered with a snort. "My mother spent most of her life trying to make a lady of me. It was hard, burdensome work for her, and I cannot say she succeeded, although that was not for a lack of trying on her part."

Spina lay down on the ground. "Tell me about your mother and your father."

Rose sat on the dusty ground and leaned back against the blue dragon. "My father was a kind man, and he ran his own wool-trading business and ran it well. But he developed a taste for the bottle, and the bottle slowly destroyed him until it killed him. It slowly killed a part of me as well, because I hated to see him destroying himself, but nothing I did could make things better."

"I am sorry I made you think of such sad things," Spina said compassionately.

"You didn't make me think of those things. I think of them by myself, every day." She blinked twice. "Mother was a shepherd's daughter who caught my father's eye, and married up. She raised my brother and me, and one younger brother who died of a fever when he was two years old. After Father died, Mother tried to run his business. She probably could have made a go of it, but no one would do business with a woman business-owner, and the business failed. She heard that there were opportunities for brave, strong women in the French colonies in Canada, so once my brother was established in the Corps and I was old enough to look out for myself, she learned some French, took ship, and left England forever. She writes to me when she can, and she tells me she is happy and doing well there. She has met a poor but handsome fur trapper; they plan to marry as soon as he has enough money to support her. That's about all there is to tell."

Spina sighed. "I wish I knew my mother and my father."

"I don't know anything about them," Rose said soothingly, "but I'm sure one of the lieutenants will know."

"Will know what?" Lt. Shrimpton asked as he strode up to them.

"Spina was wondering who her parents were."

"Yes, I do know that," Shrimpton answered confidently. "Spina, your father was a Russian Ironwing named Petrov. He was on loan to us for our breeding program; he has long since returned to Russia, and there is no reason to think we shall ever see him again. Your mother is a Sharpspitter named Aurelia who was injured in battle and can no longer fight. Unless I am very much mistaken, she still lives in one of the caves in this breeding ground."

"My mother is here?" The dragon was visibly excited. "What does she look like?"

"I suppose she looks something like you, but smaller," Shrimpton decided. "I have not seen her myself, but most Sharpspitters are not much larger at adulthood than you are now, at one week of age. It is certain that you will take after your father and not your mother, in terms of size."

"I want to see her," Spina exclaimed. "I want to meet her."

"That, I think, will depend on your senior rider's orders," Lt. Shrimpton said firmly. "You are now large enough for both him and Ensign Smalls to ride you at the same time. He will no longer permit you to fly off without him, as you have gotten into the distressing habit of doing."

"Quite so," Lt. Tufnel interjected as he strode into the barn. "Spina, were you thinking of going somewhere without me this morning?"

"Oh, no, Lieutenant," the Longwing answered. "I just ate a large meal, and I have no interest in flying just now."

Shrimpton faced Tufnel. "She has expressed a wish to overfly the breeding grounds and find her mother."

"Surely you can't deny her a simple request like that?" Rose burst out. "It would be inhumane!"

"Well..." Tufnel thought it over. "It's normal for dragons to want to meet others of their kind and make friends of them. Very well; I will agree to an overflight of the breeding grounds, whenever you are ready to fly. If you see your mother, you may land and speak to her. If she does not appear, then you will show me how high you can fly. Admiral White has asked me about that."

"Thank you," Spina said, surprised. "I accept your offer."

"It is not an offer, it is an order," Tufnel retorted. "We are _not_ going to fly in circles around the breeding ground all day, hoping to see one particular dragon. You will make _one_ circuit of the grounds, and if she does not show, then you _will_ start climbing!"

"I beg your pardon?" Spina said, looking around blankly as though she could not see Tufnel. "Is someone speaking to me? I hear a faint buzzing..."

"I _said,_ you are going to..." Tufnel saw Spina looking around, while Rose just stared at him, arms folded. He grunted in exasperation. "Is this how it's going to be? Ensign Smalls, you will relay my orders to the dragon."

Rose permitted herself a small smile. "Spina, he says we may fly one circuit of the breeding grounds to search for your mother. If we cannot find her, then you must climb as high as you can, so we will know how high that is."

"I see," Spina replied. "Then I suppose I must obey. This is one of those 'duty' things, is it not?"

Tufnel nearly exploded. "I should have the pair of you arrested and charged with insubordination! This unmilitary charade is completely unacceptable!" Shrimpton took this opportunity to return quietly to the barracks; he could see a storm brewing and he wanted no part of it.

Rose laughed. "Arrest a _dragon?_ That would be quite the spectacle! I could almost wish to see you try it."

Tufnel felt that this pair had finally pushed him too far. He took an angry step toward the so-called Ensign... and the dragon spun and slammed her tail to the ground between them. Tufnel jumped back, startled. The message was unmistakable: military rules or no military rules, Rose was under Spina's protection.

He slowly growled, "You may be sure that the Admiral will hear about this when I file my daily report."

"Of course," Rose said, acting surprised. "We are doing things exactly the way he told us to do them."

"I'm sure it will please him to know that his orders are being obeyed," Spina added.

The lieutenant stalked away, then stopped and looked over his shoulder. "Ensign, you will inform me when the dragon has processed its meal and is ready to fly. Disobey _this_ order, and you will eat nothing but bread and water for a week!" He resumed stomping away toward the barracks.

"I will not let that happen to you, Rose," Spina said quietly. "I will share a few bites of my cow with you."

"Thank you, Spina; that's very thoughtful and generous," Rose answered as she resumed cleaning the dragon's jowls. "But it won't be necessary. We will obey his order, and we will tell him when you are ready to fly." She hesitated, but the idea was too delicious not to use. "Perhaps you could arrange things so you are ready to fly just as he is headed for the necessary pit?"

 **o**

That was precisely how things worked out. Spina sent word to her captain as she returned from lunch. Rose ran and paused beside the screen that sheltered the necessary from public view. "Lieutenant Tufnel? Spina says she is ready to fly."

From the other side of the screen came a disgusted grunt, then "Tell her she must wait until I am finished here."

"She says she wants to fly _now!"_

"Tell her she can wait until... oh, what's the use?" She heard clothing-fumbling noises, and then Tufnel stepped out, looking uncomfortable and aggravated. "Let us go," he said shortly.

Their next crisis hit them as she was climbing onto the dragon's back. "No, you don't," Tufnel scolded Rose. "I am the senior rider. I will ride in front. Then you will take your place behind me, Ensign."

"I must be in front so I can relay your commands to her," Rose retorted.

"I am giving you a direct order, Ensign! Take the place behind me!" He tried to climb up onto the Longwing's neck, but Spina slid away from him. "Spina, you will cease and desist from this rebellious attitude at once!"

"What was that?" Spina said, looking all around her. "Is someone speaking to me?"

Tufnel mastered his temper by a supreme act of will. "Ensign, tell the dragon that the senior rider rides in front." Rose unhappily repeated his words.

"No, my captain must ride in front," the dragon said firmly. "I need to be able to hear my orders clearly."

"This is insubordination!" Tufnel nearly screamed. "Ensign, I am ready to lock you in the guardhouse!"

"I do not think you are allowed to punish me for an offense that a dragon committed," she said mildly.

"You are certainly an accessory to the crime!"

"Lieutenant, I am growing restless," Spina cut in. "Will you please stop delaying my captain from climbing aboard me so we can fly?"

"I ride in front," the lieutenant said flatly.

"No, you do not," the dragon retorted, mimicking his tone. He tried to climb onto her neck again; again she slid away.

"That does it! Dragon, you have pushed me too far! I am sending for Admiral White at once! _He_ will teach you what it means to obey orders!" He stormed away, leaving Rose and Spina alone together in the meadow outside the barn.

"Are we in trouble now?" the dragon asked. "Have I really pushed him too far?

"It will take half the day for Lieutenant Tufnel's message to reach London," Rose reassured her, "and I very much doubt that a busy man like the Admiral will be able to drop all his appointments in order to respond to a summons from an aggrieved lieutenant. We shall see no signs of Admiral White until tomorrow morning at the earliest. When he arrives... we shall cross that bridge when we come to it. In the meantime, I believe we have orders to fly today?"

"Why, yes, so we do!" Rose climbed up onto the dragon's neck, clipped herself to the harness, and held on tightly as Spina ran, leaped, and flapped skyward.


	7. Chapter 7

**Every Thorn Has Its Rose** Chapter 7

"Remember, Spina, we are under orders," Rose cautioned the dragon as they spiraled upwards. "We may take one, and only one, circuit of the breeding grounds to look for your mother. If we can't find her, we must break off the search and find out how high you can fly."

"Would you willingly abandon a search for your own mother if you knew she was nearby?" the dragon asked pointedly.

"It's not as big a problem as it sounds, simply because she _is_ nearby," Rose countered. "If we can't find her today, we can try again tomorrow. I think it is very important that we do not disobey the Lieutenant's order. There is no room for misunderstanding his wishes, he is quite angry already, and the Admiral is coming very soon to check on us." She looked down at the ground, which was at least a quarter of a mile below them. "Unfortunately, the dragons in the breeding ground tend to stay in their caves until the feeding bell sounds. That occurs at a different time every day, whenever the herds and flocks are driven in. We might be just above your mother and we would never know it."

"Is there no way to guess where she is?" Spina asked plaintively.

"I would guess that, because she is not a large dragon, she would be in a small cave. But there are many small caves scattered all over the breeding grounds. Is there any way you can get her attention from the air?"

"Yes – yes, there is a way!" the Longwing exclaimed. She let out a peculiar squealing, wavering call that Rose had never heard before. Far below them, dragons were suddenly popping their heads out of their caves by the dozen.

"That was a young dragon's distress call," Spina explained. "Any adult dragon within hearing distance will respond instinctively to that call." She made the call again; more dragon heads appeared. It was Rose who spotted a familiar-looking head first.

"Down there! Off to your right, just beyond those three rocks! Just her head is sticking out, but her head looks just like yours!" Spina pivoted on one wingtip and dove so quickly, Rose feared they might hit the ground. She pulled out at the last moment and settled lightly to the ground just in front of the other dragon.

That other dragon looked very much like a slightly enlarged Spina, even though half of her was still in the cave. Her wingtips were gold instead of orange, which probably accounted for her name, and her wings didn't look nearly as long as Spina's, but the family resemblance was certainly there. "Mother?" Spina asked hopefully.

The other dragon just snorted, and it was a very masculine snort. "I think you have mistaken me for someone else," he said with a touch of amusement.

"You are not my mother! You are a snort!" Spina exclaimed. "I mistook you for a female from the air. I am sorry to have disturbed you."

"I am not offended," the male said as he looked her over. "You are a fine-looking young dragon, though. Perhaps you might give me an egg or two when you are old enough?"

"When I am old enough, you will probably be too small for me," Spina said haughtily. "Today, I am searching for my mother."

"It was worth a try," the other dragon grunted, "If you are looking for Aurelia, she lives on the other side of the breeding ground. She and I do not socialize." He withdrew back into his cave.

"Why would he not socialize with my mother?" Spina wondered as she launched herself back into the air. "Surely they must be the only two of their kind in the breeding grounds."

"Perhaps they simply don't get along, just like you and Lt. Tufnel," Rose suggested.

"Speaking of him, will we be breaking his orders if we try to find my mother on the other side of the breeding ground?"

"He said we could circle the breeding ground once," Rose thought out loud. "He didn't put a limit on how many times we could fly straight across it. So, technically, I think we are not disobeying. Let's find that mother of yours!" Spina put on a burst of speed, but soon slowed down when she realized how big the breeding grounds were. It took them nearly half an hour to reach the other side.

She let out her wavering call again, and more dragon heads appeared out of the mouths of their caves. There were fewer dragons here; evidently, this part of the grounds was considered less desirable, probably because it was further from the feeding area. But Spina quickly spotted one dragon whom she desperately desired. She landed quickly and gaped at the other dragon, who looked very much like the male they had just met, except for a wicked scar across the left side of her chest.

The other dragon stared back. She flicked out her tongue and slowly drew it in. "Is that you... my daughter?" she whispered.

"Mother?" Spina said hesitantly. "I am Spina." Rose quickly unclipped herself and slid down and out of the way. She suspected that the two dragons were about to have a very emotional reunion, and she wasn't mistaken. The two dragons rushed at each other, and their chests collided with an audible "thud" that would have given Rose a whiplash if she was still clipped in. They wrapped their necks around each other and wordlessly rocked each other from side to side for several minutes.

At last, Spina spoke. "We should fly together, Mother."

The other dragon turned away; even in her reptilian eyes, Rose could see pain. "I... I cannot."

"You cannot _fly?"_ Spina was aghast.

Aurelia pointed with a wingtip at her scar. "I took a raking claw from a Pêcheur-Râyé in my last battle," she said sadly. "My wing muscles were torn, and they never healed properly. My left wing... it doesn't work as it should."

Spina was obviously horrified. The idea of a dragon who could not fly... "Mother, we are creatures of the sky! There has to be a way! Can your captain not think of something?"

"I have no captain," Aurelia said bitterly. "Not anymore. After I was injured, they sent him to serve on another dragon's crew. They said he was too valuable to keep him tied to a useless dragon. He came back to see me once, shortly after the accident. After that..." She shook her head. "I have been alone ever since then. The only other Sharpspitter in the grounds is a lecherous male who will talk of nothing but eggs. The men bring me my food because I cannot fly to get it, like other dragons do. They feel sorry for me, but none of them is a friend." She glanced along Spina's length. "Thank you for coming to see me. I suppose you can come once, and then never return, like all the others?"

"No!" Spina exclaimed. "As long as I stay here, I can see you every day."

"Until they send you to another covert," Aurelia sighed.

"Or until Lt. Tufnel orders you to stay away," Rose added.

Aurelia gazed pointedly at Rose for a second, and flicked her tongue at her. "Is this your captain? I did not think that the men would allow a lady to ride a dragon."

"I gave them no choice," Spina said proudly. "Aurelia, this is Rose. She is my chosen captain, but she is not, technically, in command of me. A most disagreeable man named Tufnel has been given that position."

"That sounds confusing," the Sharpspitter said.

"It is," Rose said hesitantly. "Oh... wait a moment! I once saw a Regal Copper carrying two smaller dragons on his back. Spina, when you're full-grown, I think you'll be big enough to do that."

"To give my mother a ride?" Spina asked. She turned back to her mother. "I think that might work! It would not be the same as flying, but you could get off the ground again, and feel the air in your face, and we could be together... Would you be willing to try that, Mother?"

"Will you grow that large?" Aurelia asked doubtfully. "I am not a tiny dragon, you know."

"I believe I will be able to handle your weight when I am full-sized," Spina said proudly. "Look at these!" She unfurled her wings and stretched them to their full length. Aurelia tracked them with her head from one wingtip to the other.

"You inherited your father's wings," she nodded. "If you also inherited his overall size, then it might work. Yes, I would try that... if you are still here when you reach your adult size."

"I believe it is customary to wait until a dragon has reached full size before they send her away to a training covert," Rose said. "Spina will be here for months, and she will fly every day. I will try to think of a way to keep Lt. Tufnel from ruining these visits."

The Sharpspitter lowered her head to Rose's eye level. "I once had a captain who was as kind and thoughtful as you are. I miss him terribly." Rose's eyes watered. As a distraction, she pulled a kerchief out of her pants pocket, dipped it in a rocky puddle nearby, and dabbed at some old gore stains on Aurelia's side-teeth. After a moment, she felt her own dragon's chin resting on her shoulder as she worked. For a woman who had spent her life keeping her emotions under tight control, she was having a difficult time holding back the tears.

"Aurelia, I'm sorry you lost your captain," she said huskily. "I promise you, I will take better care of Spina than that."

"I am sure you will," the mother dragon nodded. "But you are going to leave her someday, whether you want to or not, and then my daughter will share in my loneliness."

"I will never leave her!" Rose exclaimed, hurt by the accusation. At the same time, Spina nearly shouted, "She will never leave me!"

"That is just the way it is with dragons and humans," Aurelia said sadly. "We outlive you. There is nothing you can do about it. Someday you will be too old and frail to fight with her, and then they will retire you. They will not even let you see her after that; they say it will be bad for the relationship she will have with her new rider. You seem like a good and kind human, the sort that every dragon should know. But you cannot live forever."

Rose could feel the dragon's unhappiness, which was beginning to mirror her own. "I... I feel like I've just begun to know this amazing dragon, and already you're predicting my end?"

"I have outlasted three captains in my short life," Aurelia told her. "The first was my Edmund. He was a wonderful man, a kind man, a good man who understood how dragons think. Our years together were amazing. We won battles together, and when we captured prizes, he gave me golden things as my share of the prize money. I had the most wonderful collection of treasures! And every one of them reminded me of a specific event in our lives together." She sighed happily at the memory. Then her happiness visibly vanished. "But Edmund grew old and infirm, and he could no longer ride me into battle, so they set him aside. His health began to fail, and he hadn't saved enough of his money to pay for the doctors and the medicines. One by one, I sold my golden treasures to help care for him, until they were all gone... and then he was gone, too.

"They told me I had to take another captain, and they offered me Peter. He was very young when we met. He had barely reached manhood when he was mortally wounded in battle against the French. I brought him home just in time to see him die. Again, the admirals compelled me to take another captain, no matter how I felt about it. That third man met his obligations as a dragon's captain, but he never became my friend. He is the one who left me when I could no longer fly. Edmund's son visits me now and then, but he is a very important person, and it is hard for him to find the time to visit an injured dragon.

"Someday, you too will fall afoul of the men who run the Aviator Corps. They will not let us stay together with our human friends. As soon as you become useless to them, they will break your relationship and they will set you aside. They do it to men, and they do it to dragons. Enjoy your days with my daughter, and make the most of them, because they will not last forever."

"But that's just wrong!" Rose nearly shouted.

"Would Admiral White, sir, do that to us?" Spina wondered anxiously.

"I don't want to think about it," Rose decided. "I'm going to go for a walk. You can enjoy some time with your mother. Try to talk about happy subjects. Call for me when you're ready for us to leave." Without waiting for an answer, she turned and wandered away.

The ground was rough and rocky here; walking required concentration. When her mind began to wander, she stopped walking so she could think without taking a fall. Would the admirals take her away from Spina if she grew too old? Of course they would; they were probably scheming to separate the two of them right now. Aurelia was right. But that meant that, someday, Spina would need a new captain. Would the admirals let her select someone of her own choosing, or would they assign someone to her, like they'd assigned Tufnel? Spina definitely preferred women over men, but would the Admiralty take that into consideration? Rose didn't want her friend's future happiness left up to chance, or to the whims of a room full of military men who didn't know her and didn't care about her feelings.

Was there anything she could do about that? Could she play any role in helping to select her own replacement as Spina's captain some day?

Well, yes, there was something she could do. It certainly would not be her preferred method of helping a dragon. She would need help to do it, and she couldn't even guess who might be willing to supply that help. It would be physically uncomfortable, emotionally trying, and socially disastrous for her. But Spina might just be worth it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Every Thorn Has Its Rose** Chapter 8

Spina spent nearly two hours talking with Aurelia, her mother. The older dragon's bitterness slowly faded in the face of her young daughter's enthusiasm for everything. The fact that Spina had found a good human to be her captain helped Aurelia's mood as well.

At last, Rose quietly suggested that they should head back home, to minimize Lt. Tufnel's anger at them. "But I'll be back, Mother!" Spina promised. "You're less than an hour away."

"I'll look forward to seeing you again, my daughter," Aurelia said softly. She stood and watched as the Longwing and her rider leaped into the sky, then slowly returned to her cave.

"While we're in the air," Rose suggested, "let's make Lt. Tufnel happy by figuring out how high you can fly. That's what he really wanted us to do today."

"I am willing," Spina answered, swinging her head back to face her rider, "but how are we to measure my altitude?"

"Hmm." Rose considered that for a few seconds. "Well, there's the Pen Y Fan mountain right next to us; we know how tall that is. Fly to the top and see how you feel at that height. It won't be a full test of your high-flight ability, but it will give us something to report to the Lieutenant when we return."

Spina straightened out and began gaining height as she swung toward the stony mountain. It took her about ten minutes to reach the level of the mountain's peak.

"That's a bit over 2900 feet," Rose said. "It would have taken me hours to climb to the top on my own! How do you feel?"

"I could probably go higher," Spina thought out loud, "but if I was carrying any kind of load, like my senior rider, in addition to you, then I think I would have difficulties."

"Once you're fully grown, I'm sure a crew of eight or ten men won't slow you down," Rose encouraged her. "But you make an interesting point. Lt. Tufnel wants to know how high you can go, but if he rides with us, he'll hold you down and we won't know your real maximum altitude."

"Is that a good reason to leave him on the ground?" Spina asked eagerly.

"I think so, as long as we're talking about altitude testing. I'm sure you think so, regardless of the reason. What the Lieutenant will think, I can't guess. Let us return home; it is nearly the dinner hour, and I am growing hungry."

"That is quite odd, to my way of thinking," Spina said. "You are a much smaller creature than I am; your stomach must be smaller as well; and yet you require three meals a day, while I am content with one meal."

Rose chuckled. "Spina, my friend, if I ate as much in that one meal as you do, I would be full for the rest of the day, too. But if I tried to eat that much at once, I would burst. Eat what you will, my friend; three smaller meals a day is better for people." They flew easily, gliding when they could, until they could see the barn that still served as their landmark for "home," even though Spina could no longer fit through the doors. Four men were waiting outside, one in an angry pose, three relaxed.

"Are we going to get another tongue-lashing?" Spina asked.

"It sure looks that way." They glided to an easy landing a few hundred feet from the barn, Rose dismounted, and they walked the rest of the way.

"Ensign, make... your... report," Tufnel said tightly.

Rose stood at attention, unwilling for her posture to become an issue again. "Sir, you sent us out to determine Spina's maximum altitude. She can easily reach the top of Pen Y Fan. Beyond that, we did not know how to measure her altitude."

"I _sent_ you out?!" Tufnel bellowed. "I did nothing of the kind! I left to write a report that would go out with the next courier, and when I returned, you had left without me! You will now explain why you disobeyed a direct order from your superior officer."

Rose was taken aback. "Well, you left, sir, and we didn't think you were coming back."

Tufnel stepped forward until he was nearly nose-to-nose with the Ensign. "Am I going mad," he growled, "or did the word 'think' escape your lips? When I give you an order, you do _not_ think about it. You do _not_ consider it. You _obey_ it! Anything less in the heat of battle can result in disaster!" He turned to face St. Hubbins. "Do you concur?"

"I have to agree with you in principle, even though I'm not sure about the specific orders she disobeyed," St. Hubbins nodded. "Ensign, you are clearly not in the habit of following orders from your superiors. We will have to remedy this before your training goes any further. You and I are going to spend the next hour working on drill and ceremony. I will give the orders, and you will carry them out. Any questions? Good. Right... _face!_ By your left... _forward!"_ He led a very unhappy Rose Smalls away across the field, stopping and starting her or changing her direction every few seconds. Tufnel watched with approval for a minute. Then he turned back to Spina.

"Now that your so-called captain's attitude is being adjusted, it is your turn. I meant to learn your altitude limit today, and I still mean to do so. Will you let me climb on board, or must I punish Ensign Smalls for your continued insubordination?"

"With respect, Lieutenant," Spina answered in a silky, polite voice, "I have spent the better part of three hours in the air today. Is it wise to press my young wings any further?"

Tufnel scowled. "Are you still trying to find ways to disobey me?"

"She's right," Smalls interjected. "Technically, she ought to obey, but you and I both know it's not wise to overstress a young dragon's wings."

"Especially such an important dragon," Shrimpton added. "You can learn her altitude limit tomorrow. She can't reach her true limit on tired wings anyway."

Tufnel sighed in frustration. "Outvoted again. The Corps was never meant to be a democracy! When the Admiral arrives, I will request that he place one officer in charge of everything that involves the Longwing. This anarchy is going to stop!" He stormed off toward the mess tent.

"Did we really do something bad?" Spina asked the remaining lieutenants.

"Obeying orders is one of the keystones of military life," Smalls explained. "No one can say that they like it, but it's the only way to get things done."

"The alternative," Shrimpton chimed in, "would be for everyone to do as they thought best. That would result in some things being done twice, other things being left undone, and our strength being turned into weakness. England would quickly fall to her enemies if that occurred."

"And then we would all have to become Catholics, and Rose does not want that. I think I understand," Spina nodded. "But we really were not trying to be disobedient today. We simply misunderstood Lt. Tufnel's orders."

"You don't have to explain yourself to us," Smalls said. "When the Admiral arrives in the morning, you can explain it all to him. If it's a good day, he might even listen."

 **o**

Admiral White arrived at the breeding ground on Incontinentia at around 10:30 the next morning. He did not look happy. Lt. Smalls took one look at him and ran for the barracks.

"All hands on deck! The Admiral is here!" he shouted. "Get everyone down to the barn, on the double! Where's my sister?"

"I think she's with the dragon," Shrimpton exclaimed as he gave his boots a frantic last-minute buffing with a rag. All four lieutenants were soon sprinting for the barn; they got there just before the Admiral did. They found Rose polishing the gold jewelry that hung from the front straps of Spina's harness.

"Admiral White is here," Tufnel panted, "and all rebellious ensigns are about to get what they deserve! Everyone, form into a single rank! Atten- _shun!"_ He barked out the last syllable just as the Admiral turned the corner to face them.

He just stared at them in silence for a solid minute. It was an effective tactic for making subordinates sweat. His most recent status reports had painted a picture that was even more chaotic than the day of the Longwing's hatching. Ensign Smalls' reports were glowing, concise summaries of the dragon's progress, while Lt. Tufnel could write of nothing but orders disobeyed and military decorum ignored. His first priority was to get the facts, and his preferred method was to throw everyone's poise off. They would be more likely to blurt out the truth if they were close to panic.

"I am not a happy admiral," he began at last. "I have had to cancel a day's worth of appointments, some of which were quite important, simply because four officers who seemed trustworthy last week, suddenly cannot handle one new recruit and one young dragon! There is no reason why you could not have dealt with this situation yourselves. But it appears that military discipline has completely broken down here, and this situation is too important to England for me to entrust it to subordinates. So here I am... and any of you who are not quaking in your boots had better start quaking now!"

He turned to face the dragon first. She was behind the line of men, looking over them, and she wasn't stretching to do it. So she was going to be a big one; good. But that size and power had to be restrained by discipline, or she would be worthless to England. "I am informed," he said flatly, "that you refused to allow your senior rider to board you. Is that true?"

"No, Admiral White, sir, that is not true," the dragon replied, without any of the stress that was visible on the humans. "I simply refused to let him take my captain's place. If he had been willing to ride behind her, I would have let him board me without complaint, but he insisted on being in front. I will not permit that. He is not my captain."

So the first complication had come to light already. He knew that the dragon was most likely telling the truth; dragons seldom lied, and always confessed it shortly after they did. "Lt. Tufnel, you asserted in your report that the dragon refused to let you board her. Did you file a false report?"

"Sir, as the dragon's senior rider, I thought it was my place –"

"Silence!" The lieutenant clamped down on whatever he was about to say. "Lieutenant, you have served on dragons before. You know about the special relationship between a dragon and her captain... or, at least, you _ought_ to know about it. Were you attempting to usurp Ensign Smalls' position with the dragon?"

"Sir, I assumed that your intentions were for me to –"

"That's enough!" He turned back to Spina. "What do you think of Lt. Tufnel?"

"Admiral White, sir, he seems to be competent at his job, but I do not like him. He is arrogant, he thinks he should be my captain, and he thinks that Rose is not really an officer in the Corps."

"Oh, really?" the admiral said quietly. "I believe I see the bigger picture now." He returned his attention to Tufnel. "There are some men who understand dragons; they just know how the creatures think and feel; they take to being a dragon's captain as easily as the dragon takes to the air. Other men do not have that natural ability, but through experience and practice, they can learn it, and do well in that position. And there are some men who simply do not understand dragons and never will. Just as some men make superb staff officers, but are not fit for command, there are some men in the Corps who are brave, and skillful, and competent; they may be exemplary officers in every way; but the role of a dragon's captain is one that they should not assume. They often make fine seconds on the larger dragons, they may become the Corps' liaison with the Army or the Navy, or they may be placed in command of a smaller covert." The lieutenant visibly drooped. "Atten- _shun!"_ Tufnel snapped to.

Admiral White paced down the rank. "I now have a question for you, Ensign Smalls. Is it true that you deliberately disobeyed a direct order from Lt. Tufnel?"

She stiffened. "Sir, we did disobey, but it was a misunderstanding, not a deliberate act, sir."

He raised one eyebrow. "Explain yourself."

"Sir, the Lieutenant gave us explicit orders for what he wanted us to do yesterday. When Spina would not let him take my place, he left to file a report. He did not say if, or when, he would return, so we carried out his orders without him."

He glanced over the men's heads. "Spina, is that the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?"

"Yes, it is, Admiral White, sir."

"Lt. Tufnel, is that the truth?"

"Yes, sir," the officer said unhappily.

"And what, exactly, were the orders you gave?"

Tufnel straightened again. "Sir, I gave them permission to fly one circuit of the breeding grounds so the dragon could find her mother. If they were unsuccessful in finding her, my orders were to determine the dragon's maximum altitude in flight."

White turned back to Rose. "Did you do that?"

"Yes, sir."

"When the Lieutenant left, did he order you to wait for him?"

"No, sir."

He suddenly faced St. Hubbins. "Lieutenant, on a scale of one to ten, how would you rate Ensign Smalls on military discipline?"

"I would give her a two, sir. Perhaps a three."

"I see." The admiral paced away, then suddenly turned back. "And what, in your opinion, is the reason for this failure of discipline in Ensign Smalls?"

"Inexperience, sir."

"Hmm." The admiral looked thoughtful. "So we have an inexperienced ensign who was given ambiguous orders. She carried out those orders in a manner that, as she understood them, was correct and acceptable." He stepped in front of Tufnel again. "And this is the ensign's fault... _how?"_

"Sir, I believe my intentions were sufficiently –"

"Enough! Apparently, lieutenant, you fail to understand that your subordinates _cannot_ be demanded to follow your intentions. It is customary to expect that they will carry out a commander's intentions, once they know that commander and know those intentions. But you are not the commander here, and this entire situation is still too new for all of you. The law requires your subordinates only to follow your orders. And if those orders do not perfectly reflect your intentions, and confusion results, then the fault lies with you and the orders you gave, _not_ with your subordinates." He sighed; this was not a decision he enjoyed making, and his father might cause political problems down the road as a result. But this dragon was too important to take risks with. "Lieutenant, the dragon has clearly rejected you, and you cannot function effectively in such a situation. I am reassigning you to the Dover squadron, effective immediately. The Regal Copper there, Stradivarius, has lost his second-in-command due to influenza; you will replace him until he is fit for duty. When that man has recovered, we will decide whether you should keep that position or be reassigned elsewhere, based on your performance. You will ride the next courier dragon back to London, and arrange transport from there. Any questions?"

"No, sir," Tufnel said, doing his best to keep a stiff upper lip when he felt like he was dying inside. He'd been so close to the dragon of his dreams, and now...

"Good. As for the rest of you, allow me to make my orders _and_ my intentions perfectly clear." The lieutenants and the ensign straightened up. "Ensign Smalls is a full-fledged member of the Aviator Corps. She is not on temporary duty, and she is not a second-class officer. Her position as captain on Spina is permanent. The dragon will still require a senior rider, but that rider must not give himself airs; he is here to relay orders, not to usurp Ensign Smalls' position." He paced back and forth for a few seconds, letting his words sink in. "Part of the problem here is that there is no one in command. I thought you all could work out something like civilized servants of the Queen; apparently, I was mistaken. Lieutenant St. Hubbins, you are the ranking officer here. I am placing you in complete charge of all aspects of Spina's training, as well as continuing with Ensign Smalls' training. I am also making you her senior rider." He turned to Spina. "Unless you have an objection...?" Rose couldn't tell if he was being serious or sarcastic.

"Oh, no, Admiral White, sir, I have no objection! St. Hubbins is a much more reasonable man than Tufnel. Sometimes he speaks harshly to my captain, but he is never rude or unkind."

"Very good, then. St. Hubbins, Ensign, I shall still require daily status reports, and I assure you, I will read every line, and I will also read between the lines! I have had more chaos from this one dragon in the past week than I normally face in a month of pitched fighting, and I have had quite enough of that. Don't make me come down here again. You are dismissed! No, not you, Ensign; wait here a moment." She remained at attention as the lieutenants scattered. Spina stepped closer to her captain, unsure what the admiral intended, and ready to speak up for her if necessary.

"Stand at ease. Ensign Smalls, is it really that difficult to follow orders?" His tone was almost kindly, but not quite.

"Sir, I'm trying to learn, but... Spina has a mind of her own, and sometimes it's so tempting to do the things she wants, and... oh, I have no excuse, sir."

"Yes, dragons do have minds of their own, don't they? My father served in the Corps all his life, and he told me some stories about strong-willed dragons that could curl your hair." He gazed off into the distance, and allowed himself a hint of a smile. "You may have heard about my father recently. His name was Edmund." He looked back at Rose and resumed his gruff expression. "Just keep that dragon under control, and learn about your new life as fast as you can. I have no doubt that the rest will work itself out in time. Dismissed." He turned and walked back toward Incontinentia without a backward glance.

 **o**

 _A/N_  
 _If anyone else noticed the irony of Lt. Tufnel playing "second fiddle" on a Stradivarius, I have to confess: I didn't write that deliberately. It just came out that way. I noticed it while I was editing the chapter, and groaned at my own inadvertent wordplay.  
_


	9. Chapter 9

**Every Thorn Has Its Rose** Chapter 9

Spina continued to eat voraciously, and she continued to grow apace. After nine days, her harness could no longer be adjusted to fit her; it was time to equip her with a new one. The ground crew who were assigned to the breeding grounds were well-practiced at this task, and they had an assortment of harnesses with various proportions for slender, average-built, and heavily-built dragons. It should have been a simple exercise, over and done with in an hour at the most.

St. Hubbins and Rose supervised the process, but did not get involved. For one thing, they knew that the ground crew could do the job without help. For another, they were still working out how to relate to each other professionally. The lieutenant was legally in command, but the dragon would listen only to the ensign. Tufnel had tried to resolve this contradiction by dominating and denigrating Rose, but neither Rose nor Spina would have any part of that. St. Hubbins didn't want to repeat Tufnel's mistake, but he didn't want to give anyone the impression that he was not in control of the situation, either. Rose appreciated the difficulty of his position, and tried not to cause problems for him; she knew that, if the Admiral fired him the way he'd fired Tufnel, his replacement would surely be less competent and less pleasant. Spina followed Rose's lead, and the unlikely trio had encountered no insoluble problems so far. They all knew that a potentially catastrophic collision of personalities might be just around the corner, though, so they could not fully relax with each other. In terms of swapping out the Longwing's harness, that meant that Rose didn't want to make the ground crew think she was in charge, and St. Hubbins didn't want to make Spina think he was trying to take over. So neither of them gave any orders, and merely watched the process.

Spina also watched. She was naturally curious about nearly anything new or unfamiliar, but she had a special concern as well. It involved the upper chest strap of her harness, or to be more specific, the small array of golden rings and chains that hung from that strap. One of those rings was a gift from Rose; the others were bribes from Lt. Tufnel, which hadn't displeased the dragon but had failed to alter her low opinion of him. Tufnel was gone, the gold remained, and Spina kept a very careful eye on her treasures as the old harness was removed and the new one fitted on.

The ground crew knew their job, and they had no fear of dragons; the operation went fairly quickly. One buckle on the old harness had been bent out of shape from too many hard landings, and had to be straightened with hand tools, but everything else came off smoothly. The gold was set aside in a small pile, where Spina could keep a fretful eye on it, while the new harness was fitted and adjusted. This harness was made for a somewhat larger dragon than Spina, so she could (hopefully) wear this one for three or four weeks before she outgrew it. The crew spent a few minutes testing the fit of each strap, and adjusting the buckles accordingly. Then they stepped aside, waiting for something to happen.

After a few seconds, the ground-crew leader, a petty officer named Young who had lost his left eye in battle, said, "Spina, it's customary for the dragon to shake the new harness and tell us if any portion is too tight or too loose, or to say, 'All lies well' if the fit is good."

"First, put my gold back," she said, in a tone that brooked no argument. Young nodded, squatted in front of the small pile so Spina could watch his every motion, and threaded the rings and chains onto a thin steel cable with loops on both ends. He then attached the loops to the buckles of the harness so the cable hung in front of the chest strap. "Is that acceptable?" he asked as he stepped back.

Spina craned her neck, examined the gold, and growled, "One ring is missing."

Young quickly scanned the ground. "I replaced everything that was in the pile," he said, with a touch of impending panic. "Are you sure?"

"I had five rings," she snarled. "Now there are four. _Where is my fifth ring?_ _**WHERE IS IT?!**"_ Her voice had suddenly risen to a roar; everyone backed away a step or two, even Rose. _  
_

"Empty your pockets, Petty Officer," St. Hubbins said quickly, not wanting the situation to get out of control. Petty Officer Young turned out his pockets; the missing ring was not there. Spina was getting more agitated by the moment; she was pacing back and forth, flicking her tongue and sniffing the ground, oblivious to whom she might knock over. "Who took the gold off her old harness?" the lieutenant demanded.

"I think it was Payne," Young said, pointing to one of the crewmen.

"Payne, front and center!" St. Hubbins ordered. "Empty your pockets." He did so. There was no ring.

"Find it!" Spina ordered, in a good imitation of St. Hubbins' command voice.

"I don't know where else it could be," St. Hubbins said helplessly. Spina looked like she was ready to tear someone's head off, literally.

Then Rose spoke up. "Wait a minute. Payne, what is your wife's name?"

"My wife's name? I don't... uhh... that is, I mean to say..."

"Petty Officer Young, is Mister Payne married?" she demanded.

"No, ma'am," he exclaimed, surprised. "We are all of us bachelors. That's normal for the Corps."

"I thought so." There was a touch of triumph in Rose's voice. "All right, Payne. If you're unmarried, then what is that ill-fitting band of gold on your left ring finger?" She grabbed his hand and held it up to Spina. "Is this your missing ring?"

The dragon bent down, sniffed Payne's hand, and roared so loudly, the force of her voice nearly knocked him over. Droplets of acid appeared at the ends of her side-teeth.

"For Heaven's sake, give it back before she bites your empty head off!" St. Hubbins begged. The frightened crewman wiggled the ring off his finger, dropped it on the ground, and tried to run. Spina leaped and landed right in front of him, snarled viciously, and hit him with her wing to send him flying through the air, right back to where he'd just stood. He landed hard and was slow getting up. Two of his teammates grabbed his arms and held him so he could go nowhere.

St. Hubbins glared at the man. "Robbery is never smart, Payne, and robbing a dragon is doubly stupid. I'm amazed that you aren't dead three different ways! Obviously, Fate wants you alive. So I'm going to be generous and –"

"Sir," Rose interrupted, "I _urgently_ suggest that we give Spina her gold back first!" The dragon was quivering all over; she looked like she was fighting to hold herself back from pouncing on the man. Her claws were almost long enough to go through his entire body. One pounce would be instantly fatal.

"If we restore the ring, then Spina will not part with it again, and we can't use it as evidence when we court-martial Payne for theft," St. Hubbins thought out loud. "On the other hand, if we do _not_ restore it, then there's no use in court-martialing a dead man. Yes, do as you suggest." Rose picked up the ring and, with shaking hands, threaded it onto the cable with Spina's other treasures. The Longwing counted her gold treasures again and relaxed, very slightly.

"As I was saying," St. Hubbins said to the trembling Payne, "I am going to be generous and offer you a choice. But it is not the choice I was going to offer you before, because without the ring as evidence, we cannot court-martial you. So here are your choices.

"Option Number One is that you will buy another gold ring, give it to Spina as compensation for stealing from her, and then resign from the Aviator Corps. She still will not like you or trust you, but your gift will placate her to some extent, and you will most likely never see her again."

"A gold ring would take all the money I've got!" Payne exclaimed. "What's my other option?"

The lieutenant glared at him. "Option Number Two is to spend the rest of your military career in close proximity to a large, angry dragon who would like nothing better than to rip out your intestines and throttle you with them. I suspect it would be a very short career, but a colorful one. You have five minutes to decide... _if_ the dragon lets you live that long."

Payne was torn. "I've been in the Corps since I was eight years old! It's the only life I've ever known. If I resign, what else can I do?"

St. Hubbins glared at him. "You can breathe. You can eat and drink. You can walk, and talk, and search for work. These are all things that you can _not_ do if you spend ten more minutes next to that dragon. This is _not_ a trick question, Payne!"

For a few seconds, there was no sound except for the heavy breathing of the dragon.

"I'll get her a ring," Payne said quietly.

"I do not want a ring that _he_ picked out," Spina objected. "He can give his money to Rose, and _she_ can buy me something golden."

"I ain't paying my fine to a woman," Payne snarled.

"Then you'll pay it to me," St. Hubbins decided. "Spina, would you accept something golden from my hand?"

Spina thought that over. "I accepted gold from Lt. Tufnel, and he was much less pleasant than you are. If I cannot have something golden from Rose, then I will accept it from you. Of course, I will still like her best."

"That's understood," the lieutenant smiled. He turned back to Payne, and his smile vanished. "You have one week to make full payment and submit your resignation. After that... I'm told that a dragon's justice can be very messy."

Payne glanced at the still-livid dragon. "I'll pay," he whispered.

St. Hubbins nodded. "Petty Officer Young, is there anything else that you require?"

"I await the dragon's verdict on our day's work, sir," Young answered formally.

"Oh, yes," Spina exclaimed. "My apologies. I became distracted." She shook herself, flapped her wings, and wiggled her tail from front to back. She reared up and shook her forelegs, then shook each hind leg individually. "All lies well," she finally said.

"Excellent," the petty officer said. "We are done here." As his men began to move, he caught Payne by the arm. "You've brought shame and disgrace on our entire team!" he snapped. "The dragon will never trust any of us again. Your punishment is –"

"Hey! I thought my punishment was all settled!" Payne objected.

"That was your deal with the dragon! Your deal with _me_ is, you get to drag the old harness back to the storage barn! By yourself!"

Payne glanced in dismay at the thick metal-reinforced leather harness. "That thing is too heavy for one man! It can't be done!"

Without a word, the petty officer leaned forward and head-butted Payne. The man leaped back, moaning and clutching his nose in agony.

"Now you've got another choice to make," Young said casually. "You can say, 'Thank you, sir, may I have another?' or you can start dragging that harness."

"But.. but that thing weighs almost a hundredweight!" Payne protested. "One man can't move it that far by himself!"

"Then I suggest you unbuckle it into sections and make several trips."

"But that will take all day!" the man argued. Young stepped forward; Payne jumped back and dodged another head-butt. "All right, all right, I'll do it!"

"You had better reassemble it correctly when you're done, because I'm going to inspect it!" the petty officer threatened. "If you're smart, you will keep your distance from the dragon while you're working. Oh – and don't put in an appearance at the mess tent until you've finished."

Rose watched as the man tried to get to the old harness. The moment he took a step toward it, Spina growled at him and he backed off. "Spina, are you defending that harness?" she asked.

"I care nothing for the harness," the dragon answered without taking her eye off of Payne. "It is _him_ that I heartily dislike."

"Perhaps we should go flying," St. Hubbins suggested. "It would defuse the situation on the ground, and there is something about Spina that we have not investigated yet." He climbed onto Spina's back, then offered his gloved hand to Rose. She took it as she scrambled onto her dragon's neck. They both clipped themselves to the new harness and Rose called, "Crew is aboard!" They braced themselves as Spina ran across the ground and leaped skyward.

As soon as her flight attitude stabilized, she looked back at her riders. "What is it about me that you have not investigated yet?" she asked. "You have looked into my speed in level flight, my speed in a dive, my rate of climb, my maximum altitude, my maneuverability at various speeds, my load-lifting ability, my sense of direction, and the amount of space I require for taking off and for landing. You have tested my intelligence, my problem-solving ability, my memory, my reaction to being startled, and my susceptibility to anger; you have checked my eyesight up close and at a distance, my ability to distinguish colors, my hearing, and my sense of smell, both nasally and with my tongue; you have weighed me and measured me in a dozen different ways, and you even weigh the food I eat, which is an indignity to which no human is subjected, I am sure. Is there an aspect of me that you have not investigated?"

"Your venom," St. Hubbins answered. "On the day you hatched, you destroyed three iron door hinges in a matter of seconds. That is something that no other dragon could do; even a Sharpspitter's venom is not that powerful. I'd like to find some targets of different kinds, and see how effective you are at destroying those targets."

"Oh! That almost sounds like fun!" Spina exclaimed. "What sort of targets did you have in mind?"

"We'll start with something organic," the lieutenant decided. "Those dead trees just ahead of us will do nicely. Give one a squirt and let's see what happens." Spina dipped in the air, lined up on the copse of trees, and squeezed off a quick burst of acid. The two-inch-thick tree trunk smoldered, blackened, and toppled over within about seven seconds.

"Wow!" Rose exclaimed. "Spina, remind me never to get you angry at me!"

"I would never get that angry at _you,"_ Spina said peacefully. The implication was clear; she _might_ get that angry at someone else.

"I'm impressed with your accuracy, Spina," St. Hubbins added. "Hitting a target that small, while flying through the air, is something that very few human sharpshooters can do."

"I daresay there are very few human sharpshooters who can fly through the air at all," Spina answered drily. Rose chuckled.

"I meant while they were riding on a dragon," St. Hubbins explained lamely. "All right, let's try something different. That flat rock down there. Hit it!" They experimented on anything they could see, knowing that as long as they were within the breeding ground, the Longwing wasn't damaging anything that belonged to anyone. Her acid proved to be utterly lethal; it demolished living tissue in seconds, and ate holes in solid rock in less than half a minute. Her aim was also deadly and unerring. Her only limitations seemed to be the fact that she could shoot only downward, and that she ran dry after about fifteen minutes of repeated short shots.

"Can you tell when you're running out of venom?" Rose asked her.

"Yes, but it is not an exact thing," Spina answered. "I cannot say, 'I have three more shots left.' It is more like, 'I will run out very soon.' And, because I know you will ask this question next, I do not know how long it will take me to recharge myself. I have never run myself dry before." She suddenly assumed an awkward position in the air, with her head down nearly to her chest.

"Are you counting your gold treasures again?" Rose asked with a touch of amusement.

"I am simply making sure," Spina said as she raised her head again. "By the way, Rose, that was terribly clever of you to find my ring the way you did. This morning's events gave me a terrible fright."

"Honestly, Spina, I think you gave all of us a terrible fright this morning," St. Hubbins said. "I, for one, never want to see you that angry again... unless that anger is being unleashed on our enemies! Let's go back home and take the rest of the afternoon off. I think we all need it."


	10. Chapter 10

**Every Thorn Has Its Rose** Chapter 10

Two nights later, Rose was awakened by a rumble of thunder. Her first thought was toward the dragon, who was sleeping in the open and who had never experienced a thunderstorm before. She dressed in the darkness and ran through the pelting rain toward the barn, which Spina still used as a lair even though she could fit only her tail and hindquarters into it. By the next flash of lightning, she saw the Longwing looking upward.

"Spina! Are you all right?"

"Of course I am all right," Spina answered, without looking away from the sky. She spread out a wing to shelter her human friend from the rain. "A little water will do me no harm. But this is a remarkable display in the sky! What is it?"

"It's called lightning," Rose answered. "The sound that follows is called thunder. Thunder cannot harm you, but lightning can." At that moment, a forked bolt of lightning lit up the sky for a moment. Half a second later, the thunder cracked.

"Well, if this lightning comes too close to me, then I shall dodge it," Spina decided. "Where does it come from?"

"I don't know what causes lightning," Rose admitted. "Something happens in the clouds, and the lightning comes out and falls to earth. But when it passes through the air, it pushes the air aside, and when the air comes back together after the lightning passes, that causes the thunder. It's something like this." She clapped her hands. Spina tried to copy her, but dragon paws cannot form two flat surfaces like human palms can, and she was unable to make any sound.

"Could we fly up and see what causes the lightning?" the dragon asked.

"I think that would be bad," Rose answered. "As I said, lightning can hurt you if it touches you, and it moves very, very fast. It would be best if we stayed far away from it."

"It is a pity that the clouds are so high," Spina thought out loud. "I cannot quite fly high enough to reach them. Perhaps one of them will sink down lower some day, and I will be able to examine it more closely. I think the clouds are hiding secrets from me."

"Perhaps some day," Rose yawned, "but not tonight. Shall we try to sleep?"

"I suppose," Spina nodded, and curled herself around her friend. "There is not much else I can do tonight."

The lightning storm ended after about an hour, but the rain continued and the wind began to rise. The courier dragon arrived at sunrise that morning, and his rider seemed to be in an unusual hurry. Deliveries to Pen Y Fan tended to be low-key trips where rider and dragon could take their time and rest on the ground for a few hours, but not today. The rider didn't even dismount, but stayed on his dragon and motioned for Lt. Smalls, who had the duty that morning, to approach him. "What's the hurry, Keaggy?" Smalls asked.

"There's a big to-do along the western coast," Lt. Keaggy explained. "This isn't official news, but I think one of our dragons has gone missing. He was carrying something important. Most of the dragons in the Plymouth covert have flown north to search the sea and the shore for him. As soon as these dispatches are signed for, I have to report back to Swansea and get my own orders to help with the search."

"May I please take a drink?" Julius begged. "Just a little one. I am so _very_ thirsty!"

"Sorry, Julius, but there isn't time," Keaggy corrected his dragon. "You can drink something in Swansea while I'm getting our orders."

Lt. Smalls signed for the dispatches, skimmed them for signs that something might be urgent, handed up the daily status reports that Lt. St. Hubbins and Ensign Smalls were required to submit, and watched the courier dragon flap away toward the southwest. St. Hubbins and Shrimpton joined him a few minutes later; he told them what the courier rider had told him.

"One more dragon might help in the search," St. Hubbins said thoughtfully. "I think I know what Spina's training program for today will look like."

"I wish you the best of luck with that," Shrimpton scoffed. "Do you think the commander in Swansea will have any use for a young dragon who hasn't gone through any kind of training? She's never even flown in a line before! Besides, these dispatches don't say anything about us joining the search. It's not for us to make up our own orders. If their Lordships want us to be involved, they will certainly tell us."

"Their Lordships are probably not thinking of making use of any of the breeding-ground dragons," St. Hubbins replied, "so Spina has probably escaped their notice. I'll let the commander in Swansea make that decision."

"You're forgetting one small thing, St. Hubbins," Smalls cut in. "What is the first rule of survival in the military? Never volunteer for anything!"

"If this is really important, then I'll risk it," St. Hubbins answered. "Also, I think it will be good for the dragon to do something useful. I'm seeing signs that she is getting bored. When a clever dragon gets bored, she will make up her own fun, and... I don't want to be nearby when that happens. Where is Ensign Smalls?"

"She wasn't in the barracks when I got up this morning," her brother answered. "Her bed was not made and her uniform was gone."

"I suppose I should see if she's with Spina first," the senior lieutenant decided. "That always seems a safe assumption to make, in her case." He pulled on a heavy-weather jacket and headed for the barn. The dragon was there, but there was no sign of Rose Smalls.

"Good morning, Spina," he called. "Have you seen your captain recently?"

"No, Lieutenant, sir, I have not seen her recently," the Longwing answered. But there was a slight twitch about her muzzle that meant she wasn't telling the entire truth.

"Spina, are you concealing something from me?"

"Well, because you asked..." She unwrapped a wing to reveal Rose, curled up on the ground next to her, sound asleep. "I spoke the truth when I said I had not seen her," Spina explained. "She has been there, securely out of sight under my wing, since late last night."

St. Hubbins shook his head; he'd been right about a bored dragon making her own fun. "In the future, I shall try to be more specific in the wording of my requests. Please wake her up; we have some important work to do today."

The dragon bent over and softly called, "Rose? It is morning. Please wake up." She added a quick flick of her tongue on Rose's cheek. It was a remarkably gentle gesture from so fearsome-looking a creature. As Rose began to stir, St. Hubbins felt another pang of regret that the dragon hadn't chosen him as her captain.

When Rose saw him, she stiffened and stood at attention. "Am I in trouble, sir?" she asked nervously.

"Not that I know of," the lieutenant answered drily. "If you are aware of something that you ought to confess, then please do so. If not, then tidy up your uniform, grab a quick breakfast, and get your foul-weather gear. We have some flying to do today, and it's not just a training drill." She saluted and ran for the mess tent.

"What are we going to do today?" Spina asked, suddenly very interested.

"One of our dragons is missing," St. Hubbins explained. "We are going to fly down to Swansea to ask the commander there if he would like us to help with the search."

"Oh, yes!" the dragon exclaimed. "That will be much better than flying back and forth in straight lines all morning."

"Those straight lines serve a purpose, Spina. When you join a squadron of dragons, you'll find that they do almost everything in straight lines, especially fighting."

"Why is that so?" she asked.

"Because that's how things are done," St. Hubbins explained patiently. "Soldiers on the ground fight in lines. Warships at sea fight in lines. And dragons fight in lines in the air. It's a sound military tactic that has been proven over and over again in battles all over the Empire."

"It does not sound like the best way to use the strengths of the various dragons," Spina said doubtfully.

"Well, when you have earned your admiral's epaulets, then you can tinker with aerial formations to your heart's content," the lieutenant answered with a trace of a smile. "But until then, you shall learn to fly in line ahead and line abreast. You will learn to keep in formation with the dragons ahead and astern, and with the dragons to either side of you. You will not break those formations unless your formation's commander orders you to do so. The straight-line flying drills that I have been inflicting on you will serve as a good foundation for the more arduous training that will follow. I don't expect you to thank me, but someday you will appreciate these trials. Oh, here comes Rose. Please prepare for flight."

Spina shook out her harness, called, "All lies well," allowed her captain and her senior rider to board her, and took a running start to get into the air. Rose consulted the small compass that was mounted on the main shoulder strap and gave Spina her directions.

"If I could fly above the clouds, then I could fly above this rain, and my riders would not get so wet," she thought out loud.

"Yes, but you can't," St. Hubbins replied. "Very few dragons can fly that high. It is very cold, and the air is difficult to breathe up there."

"That is curious," Spina said. "I should think that air would be the same everywhere."

"For some reason, it is not," Rose answered. "In any event, it will take us a bit less than two hours to reach Swansea. There, we shall receive further orders, and perhaps an explanation of what is going on."

"Or perhaps not," St. Hubbins corrected her. "In the military, the authorities will tell you precisely what they think you need to know, and not a whit more. We shall be thankful if they tell us the size and color of the dragon we are searching for. A full explanation is not usually given to lieutenants or ensigns."

"Or dragons?" Spina wondered.

"My friend, we have all cast our lot with each other, and we shall all be given the same instructions," Rose said. "I would be happier if I knew why this missing dragon was so important, but if their Lordships are unwilling to divulge that information to us, then we must be content to do our duty without that knowledge."

"Quite so," the lieutenant nodded. "You are beginning to think like a military man."

Rose replied, "Oh? Then I shall stop at once." She didn't look back, so he couldn't tell if she was serious or joking.

They landed at Swansea, which had a small covert for the comings and goings of the courier dragons, but no beasts assigned there. "Spina, wait here," St. Hubbins said as he dismounted.

"I don't suppose I could eat one of those cows in the next field?" she asked plaintively.

"If you did, we wouldn't get you off the ground for hours," Rose chuckled. "I know you have not had your breakfast yet, but a cow would weigh too heavily on you. I shall speak to the herdsman and see if he has a goat or a small pig for you. You can eat a full meal when we return to the breeding grounds."

"I suppose I must be content with that," Spina said resignedly as she lay down and crossed her forelegs. "But I must confess, the more often I encounter this concept of 'duty,' the less I like it." Rose went in search of a herdsman, while St. Hubbins sought out the local Admiralty office.

"Can I help you, sir?" the enlisted man at the front desk asked.

"Lt. St. Hubbins on Spina, reporting to assist with the search for the missing dragon," he said formally.

The man frowned. "I don't recall seeing your name on the orders. Pray wait here; I shall consult with Commodore Starkey." He knocked on a closed door, waited to hear someone call, "Enter!" and went inside. He returned a minute later, accompanied by an older man wearing a commodore's epaulets.

"Greetings, Lieutenant. On Spina, you say?" he asked querulously. "I can't say I recall that name."

"You wouldn't, sir. Spina is our first Longwing."

The commodore shook his head. "I haven't heard of Longwings, either. Is this one of Admiral White's pet projects to improve the breed?"

"Yes, sir, and this particular experiment has turned out quite well."

The older man half-smiled at that. "So she can fly fast and far?"

"Yes, sir. She's called a Longwing for a reason."

"Good," the commodore nodded. "Does she have fighting spirit?"

"She has more than enough of that, sir. She's constantly querying us about England's enemies, and asking when she will be allowed to fight them."

"Better yet. Is she obedient and biddable?"

St. Hubbins squirmed. "Well... yes, sir, to her own captain."

"Which means you, of course. Right, Lieutenant?"

"Well, sir, there's a bit of a complication there..."

The commodore scowled. "I don't like complications, Lieutenant. Discipline, order, and predictability shall always carry the day. What sort of complication are we talking about here?"

"Sir... at hatching, she rejected all the offered rider candidates, and chose a civilian instead. Nothing we can say or do has induced her to change her mind."

"A civilian?! Outrageous! Where did that dragon get such a useless idea?"

"She hatched with it, sir. I assure you, Admiral White did everything humanly possible to arrange a more suitable captain, but the dragon would not bend. He has inducted the civilian into the Corps; it was the best he could do."

The commodore scratched his chin. "But you said you're her rider. You're no civilian! Both your posture and the wear and tear of your uniform tell me you've been in the Corps for years. What are you trying to tell me?"

St. Hubbins looked unhappy. "As I said, sir, it's a complication."

Starkey looked even more unhappy. "I can certainly use another searcher, but I will not send an unknown dragon out into a storm when there are unknown complications involved. Take me to this dragon."

"As you wish, sir. While we walk, can you tell me something about the dragon we're going to search for?"

"Yes, once we're safely out of town." They walked in silence until the Commodore was certain that no one else was listening. Even then, he spoke very quietly. "We are trying to bring in a defector from the French army who says he has useful information about the Spanish, which he will sell to us in exchange for a comfortable life. To ensure that he was not followed and caught, we chose an indirect route. He rode a fishing smack from the Normandy coast to Ireland. From there, he boarded Expialadocious, who was to bring him to Milford Haven in Wales, and a carriage waited there to bring him to London by night. But Expialadocious has not arrived. We fear that he may have gotten lost during the storm, possibly injured, and has had to land somewhere along the coast of the Bristol Channel. It is vital that we find him quickly, both because he is a valuable dragon and because his passenger is even more valuable. We don't want the man to come down with pneumonia and die before we've heard what he has to say."

"Understood, sir," St. Hubbins nodded.

"Expialadocious is a Malachite Reaper, with colors typical of the breed. If he landed in greenery, he may be difficult to see from the air. In most other types of terrain, he ought to be easy enough to find. What kind of experience do you and your dragon have in aerial searching?"

"This will be our first time searching together, sir, but I've been on four or five searches of various kinds on other dragons."

The commodore obviously approved of that. "Ahh, yes! Experience, that's the thing! One well-trained English rider on a good dragon can defeat two of those untrained Frenchies in the air. When the Spanish get here, we'll give them what-for, and make no mistake about it!" Then he caught sight of Spina, and his speech ended. Rose had kept her word and brought a medium-sized pig for the dragon's breakfast; the dragon was making hungry, gory inroads on it. The commodore watched for a few seconds.

"She's not a large beast, is she? The Admiral really expects great things from this one?"

"Sir, she's less than two weeks out of the shell," St. Hubbins explained. "She shows every sign of growing to be a middleweight."

 _"Two weeks!"_ The older officer was thunderstruck. "You're trying to send an immature, untrained hatchling out on a vital search mission in foul weather?"

"Sir, she's a strong flier, and she wants to do something useful for Queen and country! You said yourself that this search is vitally important; can we afford to keep any dragons on the ground when they want to fly and help out?"

The commodore was about to answer when he noticed Rose, who was watching the dragon eat.

"Lieutenant," he began, in a suddenly very tired voice, "I was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt, and consider sending you out there to search. But this... this is quite unaccountable. I am placing you on report."

"Sir?"

"Putting your girl friend in a Corps uniform!" The older officer was plainly disgusted. "Not only is it a complete violation of every regulation in the book, it's also in terribly poor taste! You're mocking every man who bled and died in that uniform. I should have you clapped in irons, but this search is absorbing all my energy; I don't have time to deal with you as I should. But rest assured, you shall pay for this. Who is your commanding officer?"

"Sir, because of this special breeding project, I am temporarily reporting directly to Admiral White. But Ensign Smalls is –"

"Another likely story. Well, I shall report you to Admiral White, and if you're lying about answering to him, then that will be a double black mark on your record. Whereas, if you're telling the truth... I have experienced his temper for lesser offences, and I would not envy your position for all the tea in India. Take a long last look at your rank insignia, Lieutenant, because you won't be wearing them for much longer!" He turned on his heel and stormed back toward town.

"But, sir!" St. Hubbins called after him. "What about the search?"

The commodore spun and shook an angry finger at him. _"You_ can search for a new line of work! And your _dragon_ can search for another rider!" He headed back to his headquarters in a foul mood. St. Hubbins slumped back toward Spina, who was finishing her meal, oblivious to what had just happened. Rose noticed the lieutenant's long face.

"No orders to search for the missing dragon?" She was quite surprized at that.

"No orders, and he's putting me on report," St. Hubbins said, his voice full of discouragement.

"On report?" Spina asked as she licked her chops. "For what?"

"Putting my girl friend in a Corps uniform."

"Putting your _what?"_ Rose was indignant. "Is _that_ what you told him I am?"

"Nothing of the sort!" St. Hubbins protested. "He jumped to that conclusion on his own, and he didn't give me a chance to disabuse him of that notion. I assure you, I told him no falsehoods of any kind."

"Are you in trouble because of this?" Spina asked solicitously.

"From this episode? Hardly," St. Hubbins laughed bitterly. "The commodore's report will go to Admiral White's desk, where the Admiral will write 'Duly noted' in the margin and stick it in a special file where papers go in and never come out again. He knows about your uniform and he has chosen not to make an issue of it. But I fear this is just the first of many such incidents that are going to follow you two wherever you go."

"Perhaps this is none of my concern," Rose said slowly, "but is it going hurt your career to ride with us?"

"Riding with Spina? No. Riding with you? Maybe. But careers in the Corps aren't like other military careers. In the Army and the Navy, the goal is to rise in rank as high as possible. Privates want to become sergeants, sergeants wish they were lieutenants, lieutenants work to become captains, and so on up the ranks until you reach flag rank. But in the Aviator Corps, the ultimate goal is not to wear stars on your shoulder, but to ride on a dragon's shoulder. As soon as a dragon chooses you as his rider, your career has hit its high point, and the rest is almost an anticlimax, in terms of advancement. We still get promotions, and we appreciate them, but no promotion can equal the thrill and the joy of that first flight on your special flying friend. Spina is your friend, not mine, but I am still assigned to her, I hope to stay with her, and the chances are small that I would get a chance at another dragon if Spina rejected me for some reason.

"The upshot of all that is, no matter what happens as a result of riding with you, it won't matter to me, because I can ride with Spina. They can promote me or they can demote me; they can give me a medal or they can make me surrender my pay; but as long as this amazing dragon lets me ride her and fight on her, I will be considered a success in the Corps. And I shall be happy."

"That gives me a lot of control over your future," Rose noted with some surprize. "If I persuaded Spina to reject you, it would be all over for you."

"Are you thinking of doing that?" the lieutenant asked with a twinge of nervousness.

"No, not a bit. I'm just unaccustomed to having any influence over anyone at all. It's an odd feeling." She paused. "I don't think I like it. I never tried to influence Spina against Lt. Tufnel, and I wouldn't do it to you, either. She's a good enough judge of character; she doesn't need to be influenced. You have nothing to fear from me."

"I hoped that might be the case, but it relieves me to hear it," St. Hubbins nodded. "Spina, it appears that they do not want our services. Are you ready to fly us back home?"

"Will I have to fly in straight lines when we return?" Spina asked.

"No; by the time we return to the breeding ground, I think you will have done all the flying your young wings can handle. Your day will be done when we arrive."

"Can I eat a cow when we arrive?" she asked even more plaintively.

"If there are any cows left on the breeding grounds, then yes, you bottomless pit, you can take one for your lunch," St. Hubbins agreed. They climbed aboard, clipped themselves to the harness, and braced themselves as she ran and leaped into the sky.

The next day, they learned from the morning courier that the missing dragon had been found near Cardigan, nowhere near where they might have been sent to search; he had been waiting out the storm on the ground. The important passenger had been safely delivered to London by air. Their entire misadventure had been for nothing.


	11. Chapter 11

**Every Thorn Has Its Rose** Chapter 11

"Good morning, Spina!" St. Hubbins called jovially. "How are you this morning?"

"I am fine, but I shall be even better once I have eaten," Spina answered.

"Again? You ate a whole cow last night! I can't believe you're hungry again."

Spina blinked twice. "You eat three meals a day, and I do not judge you for that. Is it so terrible that I like to fill my belly when it feels empty?"

"I suppose not," the lieutenant nodded reluctantly. "But there's been some sort of cock-up in the supply deliveries today. They won't be bringing you any food until tomorrow. You'll have to take your meal with the other dragons on the breeding ground."

Spina growled in displeasure. "They've forgotten about me again? They have a strange way of showing me that I am special. And you have no idea when the feeding bell will ring. Is that correct?"

St. Hubbins nodded. "Whenever they drive the livestock onto the grounds, that's when they ring the bell." He glanced over his shoulder; Rose was just joining them. "Ahh, Ensign Smalls, it's so good of you to join us this morning. Do you have some good reason why you are so very late?"

She made eye contact with Spina to avoid making eye contact with the lieutenant. "It was... a woman's issue. Good morning, Spina. How are you this morning?"

St. Hubbins spoke before Spina could answer. "Ensign Smalls, we do not have 'women's issues' in the Corps."

"You do now," she said over her shoulder. "Sir."

"Rose, you're on the fine edge of insubordination," the man said firmly. "I do not wish to be unkind, but we do have to maintain some semblance of military discipline here. I require a full explanation for why you were late to your station this morning."

She stiffened to attention. "Very good, sir. Precisely how detailed a description of my monthly bleeding do you require? And shall I summon the supply chief, as a witness to the difficulty I had in acquiring the necessary materials to avoid soiling my uniform during the upcoming week?"

St. Hubbins turned crimson and turned away. He'd hoped to embarrass Smalls into toeing the line. It had backfired badly; she was still nowhere near toeing the line, and now they were both embarrassed. They all stood in silence for several seconds.

At last, Rose spoke. "Spina, you haven't eaten yet."

"You are not the only one who had problems with the supply chief," Spina answered, oblivious to the interaction between the two humans. "There will be no food delivery for me today. I must eat with the breeding dragons again."

"Spina, you realize that if you keep stealing animals out from under the other dragons' noses, there is going to be trouble! I've heard that some of them have complained to the breeding-ground master about you. You must learn some manners in how you treat them."

"If they snooze, they lose," Spina said airily. "If they are not quick enough to hold onto their prey, is that my fault?"

"I'm not sure the breeding dragons will see it that way," Rose admonished her. "I don't want to see you get into a fight; you're too important to England, and you're too important to me. Please be more careful."

"When I get hungry, it is the other dragons who need to be careful," Spina said dismissively. "Lt. St. Hubbins, what shall I do while I wait for the feeding bell?"

The lieutenant had recovered his composure sufficiently to try speaking again. "I think... I think we shall talk about signal flags today." He went into the barn to fetch the flag bag. The signals were colorful and new to Spina, so she paid full attention as he explained how signal codes worked, and demonstrated the most common ones. Rose also followed the lesson; she didn't memorize all of it on the first try, but she grasped the basics.

"Which of us will send the signals when we are in the air?" she asked when he was done.

"When Spina is full-grown, she will have a crew, including one man who is solely responsible for sending and reading signals," St. Hubbins answered. "His position will be near me, so he and I can quickly communicate. You will need to be aware of the formation commander's location so you can read his signals, if need be, but your main responsibility will be toward your dragon. You are learning this so that you can take over and read the signals, in the event of casualties among the crew."

"Casualties?" Rose felt a chill. "Is that likely?"

"Likely? It is a virtual certainty in battle. Dragons try to fight other dragons, but the human crews are most likely to fight other human crews. A favorite tactic is for sharpshooters to whittle away at a dragon's crew, then jump from their dragon to the enemy dragon's back and take the captain hostage. The hostile dragon won't fight if its captain is at risk, so we can capture the dragon without harming it. Unfortunately, the enemy will try to do the same thing to us. So you must be ready to take my place, or your signalman's place, if one of us falls in battle."

Rose knew she was in the military. She knew that dragons were expected to fight, and that people get killed in wartime. But that abstract concept had just become real. A French or Spanish dragon crew might very well shoot St. Hubbins, and then put a sword to her back to force Spina to surrender. She tried to envision... and shook her head violently to get that image out of her mind.

"Perhaps I should learn to handle a pistol and a sword?" she asked.

"You will," St. Hubbins nodded. "Very soon."

The breeding-ground feeding bell sounded as the humans were finishing their lunch. Rose watched as Spina leaped into the air and swung her head back and forth, searching greedily for the incoming livestock. "I really hope she doesn't cause a problem with the other dragons again," she said to the others.

"It might be good if she did," Shrimpton commented through a mouthful of chicken. "The other dragons will put her in her place, and she will be more tractable as a result. She is far too independent-minded for a Corps dragon. She needs to be taught a lesson."

"I am not convinced that you're seeing her realistically," St. Hubbins replied. Only Rose caught the understatement in his tone.

Spina gained some height so she could see where the livestock were, and of what sort they were. She saw the rising dust cloud first, and soon made out its source – _cows!_ Her favorite! She sped up, determined to be the first dragon to reach the herd. But dozens of of the breeding dragons had emerged from their caves and lairs at the sound of the bell, and they loved cows as much as she did. They would get there first. Well, then it would become a test of speed and determination. She had plenty of both. She went into a shallow dive, and felt her airspeed rise.

She picked out a likely victim from the back of the herd; she was going to heed Rose's advice about not stealing from the other dragons if she could. But a big gray-and-black Parnassian was getting right in front of her! She tucked her legs up even tighter than normal, rose slightly, and shot just over the bigger dragon's head. He ducked and roared, "Hey, you! Watch yourself! That was too close!" She ignored him, struck, and staggered into the air with her lunch. She was big enough to eat a whole cow at once, but not big enough to carry one off for any distance, so she picked a nearby hillock to land on.

She hadn't even begun to tear into her repast when five dragons stormed up to her, led by the Parnassian and an equally angry Yellow Reaper. The other three were smaller breeds that she didn't recognize; they might be captives from other nations' Aviator Corps. "We want a word with you, blue dragon," the Reaper demanded.

"Can it wait until after I have eaten?" Spina asked.

"No! You seem to think you own this breeding ground and everything in it, and you are very much mistaken. We have an established way of handling mealtimes here. We all take turns, starting with the largest, so everyone gets something to eat, even if we do not all get enough every day. It is not your place to help yourself to whatever you want, whenever you want it! We are going to stop this rudeness, right now."

"Is that a fact?" Spina asked with deceptive calm. "And which of you is going to do the stopping?"

"Are you really going to defy the group?" the Yellow Reaper demanded. "Do you think you can outfight all of us?"

"That remains to be seen," she answered, keeping her voice mild, even though she was tensing up for fight or flight.

The Yellow Reaper scratched a long line in the rock in front of her with her claw. "You may start with me. I defy you to step across that line."

Spina tracked the line with her head and squirted acid along its length. The venom hissed, bubbled, and smoked as it ate into the rock. "No, _you_ step across that line," she demanded.

All the other dragons backed off a step and stared in horror at what she'd done. At last, the Reaper asked, "What _are_ you?"

"What am I?" she echoed incredulously. Then she pulled herself erect and spread her wings to make herself appear larger. "I am the Longwing, Spina, daughter of Petrov of Russia and Aurelia of England. I am the British Empire's best hope, and your worst nightmare. I am the first of my kind, and the last thing you will ever see, if you cross that line. I am awesomeness personified and the embodiment of destruction. And I am very hungry!" She paused for breath. "Who are _you?"_

The Yellow Reaper hesitated. She knew that she could outfight this young dragon if it came to teeth and claws, but that still-smoldering line in the rock gave her pause. "I am... I am having second thoughts about this encounter." She turned to the Parnassian. "Perhaps you would like to try reasoning with her?"

The Parnassian glared down at her. "You realize, of course, that we will report your behavior to the breeding-ground master?"

Spina acted afraid. "Oh, no! Not that! Please do not report me to the breeding-ground master! He might scold me, or spank me!" Then she resumed her normal pose and snorted. "I have two human riders, which is more than any of _you_ have managed at a time, and I am keeping both of them in line quite nicely, thank you very much. Should I fear the breeding-ground master? What can he do to me, that I should worry?"

One of the smaller dragons spoke up, with a strong French accent. "She thinks she is better than us because she is not imprisoned here."

"That has nothing to do with it," Spina retorted.

"It is true that you do not understand our situation," the Yellow Reaper objected. "You can come and go as you please – you have a captain and a harness! You can hunt your food anywhere that the humans allow. We would be hunted down like criminals if we strayed off the grounds."

"And there is nothing out there that is worth straying for," the Parnassian added. "The humans have either rejected us, or proven themselves to be unworthy of us. The only things we have left are mating and food, and there is seldom enough food to fill all of us. And you are poaching our food."

"They try to provide one animal for each of us," the Reaper continued. "Sometimes there are extras; sometimes there are not. If there are extras, the large dragons get them. One goat is barely enough for a middleweight dragon like me. When you take what is ours, you take food right out of our bellies."

Spina was taken aback by all this. "Well... it is not completely true that I misunderstand your situation. I have been meeting with my mother, Aurelia, on the other side of the mountain, and she has told me much about the way things are here. But I admit, I did not realize how important your food was to you, or that there was not enough of it. I... I am sorry."

"Why do you take our food at all?" the Reaper asked. "Do they not provide you with choice animals to eat every day in that fine new barn of yours?"

"On most days, they do," Spina admitted, "but there are some days when they forget about me. On those days, I suppose I know exactly how you feel. From now on, when that happens, I will wait in line with the rest of you, and not rush to take my share first."

"They forget about you?" The little dragon with the French accent was amazed. "I thought they treated you like the princess!"

"No, humans can be forgetful toward all of us sometimes," Spina answered. "My riders are kind, but even they have much to learn about dragons." She glanced again at the French dragon, who looked quite thin and bony. "Would you like to share half of my cow?"

The dragon licked his chops hungrily. "No one has ever offered me half of anything before! How shall we share it?"

Spina carved a line along the dead cow's flank with a foreclaw. "Everything to the rear of that line is yours. I will eat after you have finished."

"You are most kind. Thank you!" The little dragon tore into the cow with gusto. Spina waited until he had just swallowed a bite, then asked, "What is your name?"

"I am called Rapide-flèche," he answered with a touch of embarrassment. "It is an extravagant name for a dragon like me. I am but a lowly Pou-de-Ciel, not a special dragon like you. I did not even deserve a Latin name like the others. When the English captured my capitaine and forced me to come here, I do not think anyone in my formation noticed that I was gone. You are the first one, human or dragon, to show me kindness in a very long time." He took another bite.

As the French dragon ate, Spina engaged the others in polite conversation. The Yellow Reaper's name was Patricia (she pronounced it "Pa-TREE-see-ah"), and the Parnassian was called Redonculus. They were curious about her situation, especially how she had wound up with two riders. The other two small dragons wandered away once they saw that they would get no food here. By the time Rapide-flèche was done with his half of the cow, the four dragons were conversing like old friends.

"It seems that we misjudged you," Redonculus commented.

"There were misunderstandings all around," Spina answered him. "Fortunately, we all stopped to talk before things got out of control."

"Fortunate, indeed," Patricia nodded. "It is a shame that the humans cannot learn that lesson as well."

 **o**

 _A/N_  
 _Spina's "who am I?" speech was very much inspired by a similar speech given by Susan Ivanova in the Babylon 5 episode "Between the Darkness and the Light."_


	12. Chapter 12

**Every Thorn Has Its Rose** Chapter 12

"No food? _Again?!"_ Spina sounded more aggrieved than angry, and Rose was glad for that. She'd seen Spina get angry exactly once, when a ground-crewman had tried to steal one of her gold rings. She never wanted to see the Longwing get that angry again, ever. But it seemed that the Corps' supply system was trying to provoke her to that same level of rage.

"Yes, my dear friend, they forgot to deliver your meal again. In fact, they didn't arrange a food delivery for any of us. Lt. Shrimpton and my brother have gone into the village to buy whatever they can find. If no one has any spare food to sell them, then we're going to eat salt beef and dried biscuits today. There are drawbacks to living way out here in the middle of nowhere."

"Rose, I will not let you go hungry," Spina promised. "I will listen for the breeding-ground feeding bell, and after I have eaten, I will bring back some of my kill for you."

Rose was touched; she knew how much dragons loved their food, and how loath they usually were to share it. "Thank you, Spina! I appreciate that. I hope I won't need it, but I really appreciate the thought."

"It is the least I can do for you, Rose. After all, you do not eat much, so providing for you will not make me go hungry. But I know you need three meals a day, and I..." She stopped and cocked her head. "The bell! They are early today! Rose, I must go and eat, but I will bring something back for you." She leaped skyward and made a beeline for the feeding area.

Today's menu featured freshly-delivered pig, which was a pleasant change from the usual fare of thin goats, ill-fed sheep, and second-rate cows. The dragons of the breeding ground were quickly lining up to select their meals, according to a complex pecking order that they'd worked out amongst themselves. Sheer size tended to push a dragon toward the front of the line, but so did their aggressiveness, the rarity of their breed, the number and quality of their victories in the past, and even the number of eggs they had laid or sired. The big Parnassian, Redonculus, took his place in the line (first place, of course) and was scanning the approaching herd of pigs for a likely candidate when he saw a blue blur out of the corner of his eye. The special dragon, Spina, had left her barn and her special feeding arrangements and was approaching fast. Was she going to steal a prime animal from the feeding herd again, and leave someone hungry?

She flew a wide path around the pigs, probably to avoid frightening and stampeding them, and landed next to Redonculus. "Where is my proper place in the line?" she asked, with something that almost sounded like respect.

"We have not worked that out amongst ourselves yet," he replied, surprised and relieved that she was playing by the rules (for now, at least). "For today, go to the back of the line. You will not get seconds, but you will not go hungry. We will decide on a more fitting place for you when our leaders meet, three days from now."

Spina nearly rebelled, but she reminded herself of all the times she'd helped herself to the best of the food animals, at the expense of some other dragon who had waited patiently and then seen his chosen prey snatched away. "For today, I will go the end of the line," she replied without looking at him, and walked away toward the rear of the group. She took her place behind the hindmost, and the hindmost turned out to be her acquaintance, Rapide-flèche, the little Pou-de-Ciel.

"You are joining us for breakfast, I see?" the little dragon observed, looking up at her. Spina was not quite two weeks old, and already she was taller than the full-grown French dragon.

"Yes, the humans in the Corps have forgotten me again, and they forgot my riders as well," Spina said with disgust. "I do not ask for special treatment, but to be completely overlooked? There can be no excuse for this! If I could call up the Admiral the way my senior rider does, I would give him an earful, I promise you."

Rapide-flèche nodded. "I think that all military supply groups are the same. When I was at home, even when we were on active duty, they would sometimes forget to provide food for us. They usually forgot just after a long, difficult mission when we were all very hungry. We had to forage for our own food, which was sometimes fun, but it was not what we wanted to do when we were tired."

"That sounds typical," Spina agreed. "I am sure it made the local farmers angry as well."

"Considering the dangers we ran and the hardships we endured to protect those farmers, you would think they would gladly share some of their extra animals with us!" Rapide-flèche exclaimed, warming to his subject. "Instead, they called us _les voleurs qui volent,_ the thieves who fly, and they tried to hide their animals from us whenever we were overhead. Thieves, they called us! I hate to say it, but I think I eat better as a detainee in England than I ate as a free dragon in France."

"Will you tell me how you came to be here, in an English breeding ground?" Spina asked.

The Pou-de-Ciel hung his head. "It is a shameful thing, but I will tell you. We were flying in a line, patrolling the Channel, when an English Grey Copper swooped down from above us and dropped a single boarder on me. Small dragons like me carry only one man; we do not have crews to help protect our capitaines against boarders. He put a sword to my capitaine's back, and I had no choice but to follow the English dragon back to Britain. We were captured without a fight! I felt so ashamed!"

"Why?" Spina wondered. "It surely was not your fault that your captain was captured. What else could you have done?"

"If I had seen the Englishman coming, I could have swerved away, and my capitaine and I would still be together!" Rapide-flèche cried. "I did not maintain a proper lookout, so my loneliness and my humiliation are my fault, and mine alone."

"My friend, I know that is not true," the Longwing said softly. "You said you were flying in a formation. None of your fellow-dragons saw the English dragon either, did they? They all failed as lookouts; the fault is not all yours. Or perhaps it was an unusually nimble and skillful Englishman who got the drop on you. If that was the case, nothing you could have done would have availed. You must not blame yourself. Pray, do not feel so sad."

Rapide-flèche would not be consoled. "But, for whatever reason, I am separated from my capitaine! They hold him prisoner somewhere, and they tell me that he will live as long as I behave and do as I am told. I have not seen him since we first landed in England and they took him away." The Pou-de-Ciel looked down, disconsolate.

"Tell me about him," Spina said, hoping to change the subject.

"My capitaine? He is a wonderful young man! His name is Jean-Jacques C'est-Poule. He was barely a boy when I hatched and he befriended me. He is always thoughtful to take good care of me and to teach me what is right. The other Poux-de-Ciel told me I was lucky to have such a fine human as my friend. Usually, the most promising men are offered the eggs of the larger dragons, and the human leftovers get the Poux-de-Ciel. He is very brave as well. I was happy simply to go flying with him."

The dragons at the front of the line were pouncing on their meals by now, and the rest of the pigs were scattering in panic. Rapide-flèche and Spina both ran to the left in search of their own breakfasts, and each caught a pig within five seconds of the other. The conversation was suspended as they greedily devoured their meal for the day.

"Why do you not eat all of it?" Rapide-flèche wondered as he licked his chops afterward.

"I promised my captain I would bring back some food," Spina answered. "As I mentioned, they forgot to feed the humans as well as me today."

"So you also have a fine capitaine? You are fortunate, Spina. Tell me about him."

"Yes, I have a fine captain, but he is a she," Spina explained. "I have no interest in men; some of them are kind, but none of them are... right. When I hatched, I told them to bring me ladies or I would fly away to find them myself. You should have seen them scramble! The moment I saw Rose, I knew she was the one for me. She knows very little about military things, but she likes me, she cleans me when I am dirty after eating, she arranged for me to receive these lovely golden things –" she shook her harness so her rings and chains jingled "– and she caught a man who tried to steal them from me. She very much likes going flying with me. I like her."

"I envy you," Rapide-flèche said, and looked sad. Spina waited a few seconds, but the smaller dragon no longer wanted to talk. She picked up the leftover piece of pork in her foreclaws and flew back to the barn. Rose and St. Hubbins were waiting for her there. The other lieutenants had managed to buy some bread and vegetables, but no meat was to be found. They were grateful for Spina's contribution to their daily food supply. Rose did the cooking over an open fire near the barn, instead of taking it back to the mess tent, so the rest of the men in the breeding ground wouldn't know that a small amount of pork was available. They felt a bit guilty about keeping the meat for themselves, but the guilty feelings didn't stop them from eating all of it.

After they were done, St. Hubbins had Spina fly the usual round of straight-line drills. The dragon did fine in a headwind or a tailwind, but in a crosswind, she tended to overcompensate and veer to the windward. She was slowly learning to overcome this tendency.

"Lieutenant, sir, what becomes of Frenchmen who are taken prisoner by England?"

St. Hubbins was momentarily taken aback by that question from the dragon. Where had _that_ idea come from? "We usually don't keep them for long, because we are not technically at war with France. The enlisted men get exchanged for Englishmen who were captured by the French. Officers are also exchanged, or we may return them to France if they give their parole. The only ones we keep are the ones who want to stay, the ones with valuable information, and the dragons' captains. We hold onto those so their dragons will behave themselves in the breeding ground. Why do you ask?"

"I would like to see my enemies," Spina replied, "and if I cannot see them in battle yet, I thought perhaps I could see some captives. I would like to know what they look like."

St. Hubbins nodded; this eagerness to fight was a very positive sign in a young dragon. "They look very much like us, except that their uniforms are a different cut and color. If you like, we can overfly the nearest prison camp this afternoon. You can see some Frenchmen, and they can see you and despair of winning a war against us."

"I would like that," Spina nodded. They turned to the east. "I have another question. What does 'parole' mean?"

Rose answered that. "It means they promise to take no further part in a war against us."

Spina didn't understand the point of that. "How much is such a promise worth? What if they gave their parole, and then fought against us anyway?"

"If an officer made a promise like that, and then broke it," St. Hubbins began, "he would be cast out of the military and would be considered unfit company by any reputable person. He would be barely better than a convicted criminal in the eyes of society. A gentleman's word must mean something, or else he is no gentleman."

"All right, I think I understand that," Spina nodded, which made their flight path bob up and down. "What happens if an officer gives his parole, we return him to France, and then the French admirals _order_ him to fight us again?"

"They would not do that," the lieutenant answered. "They, too, understand the value of honor, although perhaps not so well as we do. Such officers are assigned to supply, or administration, or some other non-combat work, or they may be sent away to fight an enemy other than England. Again, why do you ask?"

"I am curious," Spina replied. "It is an unusual idea, to willingly give up fighting in exchange for freedom. I think, if I was captured, I would fight for my freedom until I could fight no more, and surrender nothing."

"I admire your fighting spirit," St. Hubbins smiled, and rubbed her flank affectionately. After about an hour and a half, they overflew a fenced compound in the middle of a barren field. Four long, low buildings occupied most of the space inside it; there was a smaller building that might have been a kitchen, four outhouses, a guardhouse near the one gate, and an open area that some men were using for exercise and games. They looked up when Spina's shadow fell across them, and stared for as long as she remained in the area. She circled thrice at low altitude, announced that her curiosity was appeased, and they returned home.

When they landed, Spina waited for her riders to dismount, then turned to Rose. "Should a dragon and her rider ever be separated?"

"I certainly hope that we are never separated, Spina," Rose replied. "I'm trying to learn military things so I won't break any more rules. That way, they won't have to separate us, ever."

"I am glad to hear that," Spina said quietly.

As they returned to the barracks afterward, Rose turned to St. Hubbins. "She's up to something."

"Why do you say that?" the lieutenant asked. "She has always been curious about her enemies. Today, she wanted to see what they look like. Is there something strange about that?"

"What's strange is that she flew a long distance over an unfamiliar route, circled a prison camp that she had never seen before, and didn't ask one single question about what she was seeing," Rose replied. "For her, that is extremely unusual. I'm telling you, she's up to something."

"Do you have any idea what that might be?"

"No, but I'll bet you a pound, today's trip was _not_ about sightseeing."

St. Hubbins smiled. "You shouldn't give away your money so easily, Ensign. I accept!" They shook on it. "Oh, and by the way, don't let the Admiral find out about this. He frowns upon officers making wagers. He says it's inappropriate behavior for a gentleman."

"Well, I am no gentleman," Rose smiled, "so he can't frown on me. I'll keep your secret for you, though."

Spina waited until "taps" had sounded and all of the lamps in the breeding-ground buildings were out. Then she walked away from those buildings, just to be sure that the jingling of her gold treasures wouldn't wake anyone when she took off. She had carefully marked the route to the prison camp in her mind as she flew there and back; even though it was a very dark night, she had little difficulty finding her way.

When she arrived over the camp, she had to figure out which of the four buildings might contain the subject of tonight's exercise. It turned out to be easy; only one building had smoke rising from its stovepipe chimney. She swooped down and squirted a thin jet of acid along the wall of that building that faced away from the exercise yard, then waited for the sizzling sound and the chemical smell to do their work. In less than five minutes, all twenty-three of the building's sleepy occupants had rushed outside, shouting in French and English for their captors to do something about the wall that was seemingly dissolving itself. The guards rushed to the scene with buckets of water, which only spread the acid without diluting it enough to stop its work.

She let out a quick roar that startled all of the prisoners; they shrank away from her, which gave her room to land in the exercise yard. "Is one of you named Jean-Jacques C'est-Poule?" she asked in a much milder tone.

After a moment's stunned silence, a plain-faced young man in the back called, "Oui, je suis... I am Jean-Jacques C'est-Poule."

"I am Spina. Ride me," she ordered. "I am taking you somewhere special tonight."

"Is this my last ride?" he asked fearfully. "Am I to be executed this night?"

"No, nothing of the kind," Spina laughed. "You are going to visit someone who misses you."

The young man did a very fast job of putting two and two together, then forced his way through the small crowd and expertly climbed up onto Spina's back. "I have no attachments for your harness," he observed.

"I will fly carefully," she replied. "But hold on tightly when I take off!" She gathered herself and bounded straight up into the air. The initial downsweeps of her wings scattered dust and gravel everywhere. The guards, preoccupied with the chemically burning wall, did not notice any of this in the darkness.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"Do not talk to me," she replied sternly. "In a manner of speaking, you are still the enemy. I must not fraternize with you, and I must not give you any information." C'est-Poule started to comment on the ridiculousness of the situation, then decided to hold his tongue. He had learned a thing or two about dragons and their unconventional way of thinking.

When they arrived over the breeding grounds, Spina circled low where she thought Rapide-flèche's cave was. She called to the other dragon, and after the third call, a sleepy voice replied, "It is late and I am sleeping. What do you want?"

"I have brought you a friend," Spina called as she landed. C'est-Poule slid off her back and ran at full speed toward the little dragon as Rapide-flèche emerged from his cave.

"Jean-Jacques?" was all the Pou-de-Ciel could say. Then they collided; the man flung his arms around the dragon's neck to avoid being knocked over, and the dragon enfolded him in his wings. They said nothing for nearly a minute. They just held each other.

"Are you well?" they asked each other simultaneously. Then both were trying to talk and listen at the same time; it was quite confusing for Spina to listen to, and all the more so because they spoke in French, and her understanding of French was deficient at best.

She didn't hear it when C'est-Poule whispered in his dragon's ear, "Now we can escape together and return to France! We can be free again!"

"No, we cannot," Rapide-flèche answered sadly. "The English dragon, Spina, will not let us escape. She sees me as a friend; I do not want to become her enemy."

"But I have ridden this English dragon!" he replied. "I know how she flies. You are just as fast as she is, and you are much more nimble in the air. We can escape from her, fly south, and –"

"No," the Pou-de-Ciel corrected him. "We must not try. The English dragon spits a dreadful poison that destroys whatever it touches, even solid stone. I might risk being hit by that poison, but I will not allow you to risk it. You would die in agony, or be injured for life. You have already suffered because I did not take proper care of you once. If it happened again... I could not live."

C'est-Poule sighed. "So, even though we are together, I am still a hostage to enforce your captivity and your good behavior."

"I have always been well-behaved," Rapide-flèche corrected him.

"There are some who might debate that assertion, my dear friend," his captain retorted with a smile. "Nevertheless, I am still glad that we are together tonight."

"Please enjoy your time together," Spina interrupted. "I must return the capitaine to the camp before sunrise, or they will think you have escaped, and that will cause problems for all of us."

The man turned to face her. "Mademoiselle Spina, if we swore to take no further part in the war against England, would you let us go?"

"You mean, you are giving your parole?" she asked.

"Yes, precisely."

"I must think about this," Spina said nervously. She suspected that, if she allowed the captives to escape, she would find herself in a great deal of trouble. They might even take Rose away from her. Yet, if the rider and dragon both gave their parole, surely no harm could come from it? She had made other such judgments in the past, and they tended to backfire badly. What was the right thing to do?

Rapide-flèche made it easy for her. "My capitaine, I am sorry. I cannot do this. If we give our parole and return home, then I will go from an English breeding ground to a French breeding ground. You will be assigned where the Corps d'aviateurs wants you; knowing them, they will probably send you somewhere far away from where they send me. We still will not be free to be with each other or to fly with each other. Also, as I said to Spina, the food here is better and the supply more reliable than I would get at home. If we cannot be a fighting team, then it is best if I stay here."

"Then I must return to the prison camp," C'est-Poule said sadly. "After a quick taste of freedom... but still, the war will not go on forever. Peace will be declared, all prisoners will be released, and then we can be together. I am not starving or freezing where I am, I will not become a casualty of the war, and I will know that you are being well cared for. It is also good to know that you have made a friend here. I suppose it is for the best." Then he had another thought. "Mademoiselle Spina, may we take a flight together, and then return here?"

"Just a short flight?" Rapide-flèche added plaintively.

"Do you give your word of honor that you will not try to escape?" Spina demanded.

"We swear," they chorused.

"Then go in peace," the Longwing said, "and fly high so you are not mistaken for an escaping feral." She lay down to wait for their return. The pair spent about half an hour in the air together. When they landed, C'est-Poule hugged his dragon's neck once more, then climbed wordlessly onto Spina's back.

As they winged back through the night sky toward the prison camp, C'est-Poule softly said, "Thank you for doing this, Spina. It meant much to me, but I think it meant even more to Rapide-flèche."

"I probably cannot do this again," Spina replied. "I was glad to do it, though. It was the right thing to do." She landed in the exercise yard silently, dropped off her passenger, and returned to her barn. It had been a long night. She folded her wings and curled up to sleep.

"And now, Miss Spina," St. Hubbins loudly exclaimed as he stepped out of the barn with a lantern, "you will tell me exactly where you have gone and what you have been doing all night."

"Why, I was simply going for a casual night flight," she said defensively.

"Staff and nonsense! You have never been for a casual night flight in your life, certainly not one that lasted nearly seven hours. Not only that, but I see that your jaw is twitching. That always means that you aren't telling me the whole truth. Now, out with it! That is an... I mean, that is a request."

Spina sighed. Like most dragons, she was terrible at lying, and she had not concocted any kind of cover story anyway. So she told St. Hubbins everything.

The lieutenant stamped his boot in anger. "Blast you to the devil and back, Spina! Do you know what would have happened if those guards had caught you? You've broken more regulations in one night than Rose has broken in her entire military career! What you did tonight was right on the fine edge of high treason." He rested a hand on the dragon's shoulder and sighed. "It also might have been the most decent thing I've ever heard of. You make it very difficult to stay angry at you, Spina. Please promise me that you won't do anything like this again."

"Very well, if I must. I promise." Spina relaxed and lay down again. "Out of curiosity, Lieutenant, what would have happened if those guards had caught me?

"The authorities probably would have thrown Rose into that prison camp, in the building next to C'est-Poule, to force you to obey regulations. I know you don't want that to happen."

Spina yawned hugely and lay her head down on the ground. "I am not worried. If they put her into that camp, I know how to get her out again. In any case, there should be no repercussions because I did no harm tonight. Is that not true?"

"No, it's not entirely true," St. Hubbins said ruefully. "You've damaged a military building in a prison camp, you've given Rose bragging rights over me because she was right and I was wrong, and you've made her one pound richer and me one pound poorer. Don't ask me which transgression is the worst."


	13. Chapter 13

**Every Thorn Has Its Rose** Chapter 13

"Oh, now this is interesting!" Lt. St. Hubbins was reading the morning dispatches as they were all finishing breakfast. "There was a bit of a dust-up over the Channel two days ago. We inflicted a few casualties, we took a few in return, but we captured a French dragon! Have any of you ever heard of a Pascal's Blue?" The other two lieutenants and the ensign shook their heads. "Me, neither, but now we've got one. Perhaps it's a new breed. I suppose they'll be bringing it to the breeding grounds soon. Anyway, our old friend Lt. Tufnel got a mention in dispatches. Apparently, he was quite brave during the boarding action."

"Well, no one ever called him a coward," Shrimpton nodded.

St. Hubbins added, "He may be a self-important military idiot with delusions of grandeur, but he's no coward."

"Is a 'mention in dispatches' something good?" Rose asked.

"Getting a mention is something like getting a medal, only not quite as good," her brother explained. "It means he can wear an oak leaf spray on his uniform."

"And an insufferably pleased expression on his face," Shrimpton added.

"Have any of you ever gotten a mention?" she wondered.

"Mentions and medals don't come often in the Corps," St. Hubbins told her. "What we do on a day-to-day basis is so dangerous, compared to a typical soldier or sailor's duty, that the lesser acts of heroism are considered part of our job. To earn a decoration, you must go well above and beyond the call of duty."

"Is there anything else interesting in the dispatches?" Shrimpton asked.

"Let's see." St. Hubbins leafed through the papers. "The Welsh district has got a new supply chief, so maybe that will be the end of putting our dragon on short rations... congratulations to Captain Isaac Craunch of the Southampton covert, whose dragon Beumdubbia just laid her first egg... Parliament has voted to create a new subcommittee for the purpose of formulating a vision statement for the Corps, and all personnel are directed to cooperate fully... another round of guesses at what the Spanish Armada is up to... three more names in the 'resting in honored glory' section; I don't recognize any of them... some admiral's wife is sharing her recipe for angel-food cake... yes, this is all very interesting indeed... oh, what's this? We should expect a visit from the Loch Laggan training master sometime later today! We ought to thank somebody for giving us so much advance notice."

"The training master?" Lt. Smalls was perplexed at that. "Spina is nowhere near fully grown. Her transfer to Loch Laggan is at least a month away! Why would the training master be coming here?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," said St. Hubbins as he laid down the dispatches. "I suppose we ought to be ready to receive him, though. Is he a stickler for neatness?"

"I've heard that, in his own covert, he'll scream bloody blue murder if he sees a footprint in the dust that shouldn't be there," Shrimpton commented. "Away from his own covert, who knows?"

"I'd better go police up the barn," Rose said as she stood.

"Good idea," St. Hubbins said. "I'll join you." The other two got busy policing up the barracks.

Captain John Luke Packard, the training master of the Loch Laggan covert, arrived just after lunch time, riding an elderly Greyling named Locutus. He landed near the barn instead of calling at the barracks first, which was unusual. St. Hubbins and Rose had been at the barn all morning, making certain that everything about Spina's harness was perfect. They were inside that barn when the training master arrived; they snapped to attention as he slid off his dragon and sauntered over to them. His eye went to Rose first.

"Young lady, what are you doing in that uniform?" he demanded.

"Wearing it, sir," she replied.

"Outrageous! That is a man's uniform! Take it off at once!"

"Right here, sir?" she asked, one hand going to the buttons of her tunic.

"No, of course not right here!" he exclaimed, looking away sharply toward St. Hubbins. "Lieutenant, this is not the sort of welcoming committee I was expecting! I was told I should look for a Lt. St. Hubbins and an Ensign Smalls."

"I am Lt. St. Hubbins, sir," the lieutenant replied.

"And where is Ensign Smalls?" the captain wanted to know.

"That's her, sir."

Packard glared at her. "A lady is an officer in the Aviator Corps?"

"Yes, sir, by special orders of Admiral White," she answered formally.

"Is this some kind of twisted joke?" he demanded.

"Sir, I am informed that Admiral White very seldom makes jokes, twisted or otherwise."

"No true lady would ever accept a military commission," he sneered. "Only the loosest kind of woman would even consider such a thing."

"I was not offered a choice, sir," she said, keeping her voice level. "And there is no reason for you to question my morals simply because I obeyed the Admiral's call to duty."

"In my experience, that is not the case. I can make some good guesses as to what kind of woman you are." He glanced down at her chest. "I think I know why they call you Smalls," he leered.

She maintained her position of attention, but her voice took on a deadly edge. "Sir, I could respond to that in a military manner, by reporting you to my superiors for conduct unbecoming. Or I could respond as a lady, by slapping you across the face. Which would be your preference? Sir."

"You're quite a feisty one," he noted as he took a precautionary step away from her.

"As a woman trying to make her way in a man's world, I have to be feisty," she retorted. "Do you intend to treat me this way for the duration of my training, sir? Because if you do, then you and I are going to have a confrontation, and I do not intend to lose that confrontation, your rank and experience notwithstanding."

"There has never been a woman at Loch Laggan," Packard answered. "Except for the servants, and if I could have my way, they would all be male as well. Women are a distraction when men have work to do. I strongly disapprove of this charade of putting a woman in uniform, and you may rest assured, I will go all the way to Admiral White himself to find out if this tale of yours is true."

"It is quite true, sir," St. Hubbins added. "It was the dragon's idea, and she –"

 _"Silence in the ranks!"_ the captain roared.

That was Spina's cue to stick her head into the barn. "Oh, no, not another loud-mouthed senior officer! Is there a regulation that says quiet men cannot achieve high rank in the Corps?"

Packard looked up at her, studying what he could see of her. "Are you the new Longwing?"

"That is what they call me," she nodded. "Are you the new Senior Shouting Officer?"

"Captain Packard, this is Spina, our Longwing." St. Hubbins hastily made the introductions. "Spina, this is Captain Packard, training-master of the Loch Laggan training covert. He will be your official trainer soon."

"I am pleased to meet you, Captain Packard," Spina said. "But I must inform you that I am not fond of men who feel the need to shout in order to make their point."

"Your preference is noted. Let me get a good look at you," the captain ordered. Spina backed out of the doorway so he could use it. Once outside, he walked in a complete circle around her, visually examining everything about her without laying a finger on her. "Spread your wings, please." She did so. "Well, I can see where the name 'Longwing' came from. Quite impressive. I'm told that your acid is very potent?"

"It is devastating, sir."

"If you do say so yourself. Can you hit that rock over there?" The rock in question was about a foot high and fifty feet away.

"Easily, sir." She took aim and squirted from one side of her mouth. The jet of acid spattered against the rock and instantly began etching its surface. Packard walked over to the rock, waited until the bubbling effect had ended, and bent down to touch it.

"Sir, don't do that!" St. Hubbins shouted from the barn doorway. "The acid retains some potency for several hours. You could lose a finger that way." The captain plucked a blade of grass and dropped it on the rock, to see if the lieutenant was telling the truth. It shriveled, blackened, and vanished in a puff of brown smoke.

Packard strode back to the barn. "Thank you for the timely warning, Lieutenant. Stand at ease, both of you. Allow me to explain the purpose of this visit. I know that the dragon is far from fully grown, but she will be my responsibility before the year ends. I need to know what I should expect from this new type of dragon, so I can plan accordingly. Have you been training her in straight-line flying?"

"Yes, sir, we have."

The captain glared at him. "What is this 'we' nonsense? Are you the dragon's captain or aren't you?"

"Sir, Rose is my captain," Spina answered. "St. Hubbins is my senior rider, but I take orders only from Rose."

"I'll soon break you of _that_ habit," Packard growled.

"Sir, with respect, I think you won't," St. Hubbins said. "The dragon has a mind of her own and is extremely strong-willed."

"Rose and I make a good team," Spina added.

"Has this dragon learned any discipline at all?" Packard demanded.

"Sir, she will follow orders to the letter... as long as those orders come through Ensign Smalls," the lieutenant explained. "Forcing her into some other course of action would be a mistake."

The captain's eyes blazed. "Are you telling me how to do my job, Lieutenant?"

"He is telling you the truth, Captain," Spina answered for him. "Unless Rose is involved, I am quite incorrigible."

"Then what is your role, Lieutenant?"

"Sir, on the ground, I have been placed in command of Spina's training and care. I am also training Ensign Smalls in military matters. In the air, I am a sort of flying liaison between Rose and the authorities."

Packard made a sour face. "You just referred to the Ensign by her first name. Is there some sort of attachment between the two of you?"

 _"No, sir!"_ they chorused.

"I certainly hope not! That sort of thing would undermine discipline and good order in no time at all." He paused. "Spina, I would like to take a quick ride with you."

"I am willing, as long as Rose rides me as well," Spina replied.

"I do _not_ require a woman's help in order to ride a dragon!" the captain nearly exploded. "You will now let me board you. That's an order."

Spina looked blank. "I am sorry, but I could not quite make that out. Rose, did you hear the captain say something?"

Now the captain exploded. "Don't you know what an order is, you insolent daughter of a sand lizard?!"

Spina stared right back at him. "Are you trying to usurp my captain's authority? No dragon will _ever_ permit that; you should know better! In any event, you need not insult my ancestry, for I have never insulted yours, _and you certainly need not shout!"_

Captain Packard backed off, and forced his breathing to slow down. "Lieutenant, does this dragon cause this kind of difficulty with you?"

"All the time, sir."

"And how do you deal with it?" the captain asked.

"I allow Ensign Smalls to ride in front, sir, and I relay all orders to the dragon through her."

Packard was astonished. "Do you mean to tell me you _allow_ her to get away with this unmilitary charade?"

"Nothing else works, sir."

The training-master shook his head. "And what does Admiral White think of this absurd game?"

"He has commended us for making rapid progress with the dragon, sir."

"Progress?" Packard scoffed. "The dragon won't even obey orders! This might be the most outrageous situation I've ever encountered!" He paced back and forth, obviously talking to himself. "I've got a captain who isn't really the dragon's captain. I've got an ensign who's really a woman. And I've got a dragon who thinks she has the right to call the shots in this entire ludicrous situation. And somehow I am expected to bring this so-called team into my training program and make a fighting unit out of them? Ridiculous! Can't the ensign at least wear a skirt? Oh, what am I saying?!" He continued pacing in silence.

At last, he stopped in front of Rose. "Tell me about the military training you have received," he demanded.

"Sir, I have received some instruction in drill and ceremony, ranks and insignia, Corps history, dragon types, both foreign and domestic, navigation over land, aerial signaling, the care and feeding of dragons, the rules of foraging among civilians, inter-service cooperation, military justice, and how to placate an angry Admiral." She paused to take a breath. "And I have recently begun learning how to repel an attempt at boarding my dragon."

"By which, you mean...?" he asked.

"Pistol practice, sir," St. Hubbins chimed in. "She's quite a good shot, especially for a beginner."

He turned to Spina. "How old are you?"

"Sir, I am two weeks, plus a day, out of the shell."

Finally, he faced St. Hubbins. "I have one more question for you, Lieutenant. In your professional opinion as a military man and a Corps veteran, do you honestly believe that a woman can be an effective dragon rider?"

Rose held her breath as he thought how best to answer. Her future with Spina might hang on the next words to come out of his mouth.

"Sir, I honestly believe that _this_ woman can be an effective dragon rider."

Packard stalked away, shaking his head in amazement, talking to himself again. "I am one month, give or take a few days, from undertaking to train England's first Longwing dragon... _and_ England's first woman aviator! Both at the same time! With their destinies tied together! If one fails, they both fail... and everyone will ask the training-master the reason why, and I probably won't even know. Why me? Did I do something in a previous life to deserve this? Are there no other training-masters in England who are worthy to take a fall that will end their careers?" He took a deep breath and slowly let it out. He turned back to face them.

"I will return in two more weeks to check on this situation. I do not expect to find a miracle when I return, although I would not reject any miracles that the Almighty might send my way. I _do_ hope that there will be more progress made, so that your official training can begin at a running start. In particular, I strongly suggest that the Ensign begin learning to fight with a saber. I neither teach nor recommend the use of pistols for someone who is defending a dragon's back. It is too easy to shoot the dragon by accident."

He stopped next to St. Hubbins. "What likelihood is there of the dragon outgrowing this obsession with having a female captain?"

"In my professional opinion, the likelihood is zero, sir. If you wish to ride her, you must ride behind Ensign Smalls."

Packard glared at Spina. "What is the reason for your obsession with women?"

"I like them," the dragon answered simply.

"I like women, too, but I don't insist that they ride me!"

St. Hubbins desperately tried to stifle a laugh. Rose turned red and choked out, "Sir, you might want to rephrase that?"

"What do you..." The captain turned very red indeed. "Oh, _bother!_ Bother the dragon, bother the female ensign, and bother this entire situation! I'm leaving! I hope to see a more proper military situation when I return in two weeks." He stalked off toward his dragon and was soon headed back to Loch Laggan.

St. Hubbins let himself relax. "What is it about you and Spina that makes stuffed-shirt officers so angry? Tufnel, the Admiral, and now Captain Packard. Is this sort of thing going to happen wherever you go?"

"We aren't trying to cause problems," Rose said defensively. "They just seem to happen when we're around."

"Perhaps," Spina added, "when we go into battle, we will cause problems for our enemies."

"I have no doubt of that, when it happens," St. Hubbins nodded. "The only question is, will the Corps survive the training process?"


	14. Chapter 14

**Every Thorn Has Its Rose** Chapter 14

Life around the Longwing's barn soon developed into a predictable pattern. Each day's schedule was different, in terms of the things Lt. St. Hubbins had to teach Rose and Spina, but there were four common threads to everything. There were his desire to prepare Spina for formal training, his need to teach Ensign Smalls as much about Corps life as he could in a very short time, and his willingness to allow Spina to visit her mother every day or two. But most of all, he felt a desperate urge to keep the young dragon as busy and as well-fed as humanly possible, so she would have neither the time nor the energy to follow her nose into some new kind of trouble.

Both of his charges were apt pupils. He was accustomed to dealing with female dragons (after all, half of the dragon population was female), and he treated them just like males. In the case of dragons, there were no real differences between the sexes, except that females spoke with higher voices and had the potential to lay eggs. In Rose's case, he had a harder time knowing how to treat her. There was nothing required of a dragon's captain that a woman was incapable of doing, with the possible exception of manhandling heavy dragon harnesses, and that was usually left to the ground crew anyway. Rose learned her military rules and skills as quickly as any man, and she asked for no special treatment due to her gender. But the inescapable fact remained that she was the one and only lady in the Aviator Corps, and virtually every man she'd encountered so far had had a violently negative reaction to her wearing the uniform and riding a dragon. Here on the breeding ground, where only a handful of men had come to see them, she could deal with it. But in a few weeks, she and Spina would be sent to Loch Laggan, where they would be surrounded by men who would surely be equally hostile to the idea of serving alongside a woman.

In his few spare moments, St. Hubbins tried to think of possible solutions to her problem. He came up with nothing. He would be right there beside her, of course; as Spina's senior rider, he would go through training alongside the dragon and her captain. But if he tried to shelter her from some of the scorn and abuse that would come her way, the other men would see her as being unable to handle her own problems. She would never succeed in the Corps unless she was somehow perceived as being just as good as the men. He suspected that Rose could accomplish this, given time and a fair chance. The problem would be the sizeable portion of men who would never accept her as an equal, no matter how well she proved that she was worthy of equality. That would most likely include the senior officers who would make the decisions about Rose and Spina's career.

What would that mean? The powers-that-be would not deliberately endanger Spina; her abilities were too desperately needed to defend England. But they would very likely push Rose to the breaking point, and beyond. Her training would be considerably harsher than that of the men and boys around her. He could warn her; he could encourage her; but only she could find the inner strength to prove that she deserved her place in the Corps. He couldn't overtly help without making it look as if she would fail without male assistance. But Spina could be a huge help. That meant that, if he could keep Spina focused, then Spina could help Rose succeed. That would be good for the Empire, and it would be good for Rose. It might not be so good for him, though; if Rose was disqualified, then he might become Spina's only rider. The dragon tolerated him, but preferred women, so her acceptance of him might not mean much. Still, something inside him wanted Rose to succeed. Perhaps it was the gentleman in him, not wanting a lady to fail. Perhaps he'd already invested so much effort into training her that he didn't want to be seen as an incompetent teacher. For whatever reason, he was determined to see Rose Smalls become the first female captain in the Aviator Corps.

But he couldn't tell Rose any of this. He was her immediate superior. If he was known to take so strong an interest in her well-being, everyone would assume a personal connection between them, and, as Captain Packard had observed, such a belief would undermine discipline in the Corps. He had to keep it strictly professional between them. That was sometimes hard, especially when the day's lessons were done and they were both riding Spina for the sheer fun of it.

Today, they were flying over the countryside, testing Spina's endurance in the air, when the dragon looked down toward the road beneath them. "Oh, what is that?" she asked.

"It appears to be a platoon of soldiers, out for a march," Rose told her.

"A company, I'd say," St. Hubbins added. "Judging by their ragged ranks and files, either they're new recruits or they've been marching for quite a long distance."

"May I fly down and see them? I have never spoken to soldiers before," Spina wondered.

"You may," the lieutenant said, "but listen to me, for this is important! The correct way for a dragon to approach soldiers is to overfly them so they see your shadow, then land at a distance and walk toward them. If you suddenly land right next to them without a warning, some of them will be frightened. They may break and run away, or they may shoot at you in a panic. Both would be bad. You must let them see you plainly as you approach them."

"Very well, I will do that," the dragon said as she swerved in the air to bring her shadow across the soldiers below them. Some looked up; within moments, the sergeant in charge had ordered the men to halt. She landed in a meadow about two hundred feet from the soldiers, who turned in unison to face her. The sergeant walked hesitantly toward them; Spina closed the distance on foot so they would meet him halfway.

"Rose, let me do the talking," St. Hubbins whispered. "Your female voice will give everything away." She nodded as the sergeant drew withing speaking distance. "Sergeant, we would like to approach your troops," St. Hubbins said. "It is a familiarization exercise for the dragon."

"It's a wot?" the sergeant answered blankly.

"I have never seen soldiers before," Spina said to him. "I want to be familiar with how they look, so I will never attack my own troops by mistake."

"I guess there's some sense in that," the sergeant decided. He returned to his formation, gave them some quick orders, then waved the dragon over. She walked confidently, but did not run; she didn't want to frighten the soldiers. Some of those soldiers were showing signs of impending panic, even though Spina was still small, by dragon standards.

"May we speak to the troops, Sergeant?" St. Hubbins was playing it by the book. He was an officer and could speak at will to any of England's enlisted personnel. But these men were Army, not Aviator Corps, and inter-service propriety had to be respected.

"You may, sar," the sergeant answered stiffly. "Just so ye know, we are the Second Company o' the First Toyota Highlanders. We're a proud outfit." It was plain that, while he was in no danger of breaking and running, he still did not completely trust dragons.

"Thank you, Sergeant." Spina focused on the first man in the first rank. "Have you ever seen a dragon up close?" she asked him.

"No, I 'aven't," the man replied. He seemed more at ease with the situation than his sergeant did. "What are those tusks on the side o' yer face?"

"Those are my venom-teeth," she answered proudly. "I can squirt death and destruction with them."

"You mean, you stick people with 'em and poison 'em, like an adder?" the next man asked nervously.

"No, it works like this." She turned, took quick aim at a nearby thorn bush, and squirted. The bush hissed, blackened, and withered within seconds. Muted cries of "Cor!" and "Blimey!" rippled through the ranks.

The second man suppressed a shudder. "Would ye do that to a man?"

"If that man was one of England's enemies, I would have to. It would be my duty."

Another shudder ran through the ranks. "The poor sod!' "That seems an uncommon cruel way to do in a bloke." "I'd hate to be on th' receivin' end o' _that!"_ Others around them just nodded.

"Look at it this way, Corporal," St. Hubbins interjected. "If a Spanish dragon was diving on you and breathing out fire, and Spina here could stop that dragon by spitting her venom, would you want her to do it?"

"Well... when ye look at it that way, then I guess it's not so bad," the corporal nodded.

"Do the Spanish have dragons like her?" a third man wondered.

"No, Spina is the first of her kind," St. Hubbins answered with pride. "No other nation has a dragon like her."

"Then I'm glad she's on our side," the corporal decided, and others around him nodded and murmured, "Amen to that!"

Spina appeased her curiosity, St. Hubbins thanked the sergeant, and they leaped into the air. As they flew away, the soldiers began marching again. St. Hubbins noticed that they were marching a bit faster than they had done before they met the dragon.

"So now you've seen some soldiers," he said to Spina. "They aren't so different from anyone else."

"Just single men in barracks, most remarkable like you," she answered, with a passable imitation of the soldiers' accent. "But now that I have met the soldiers, could I meet some sailors, too?"

"Not this morning; the sea is too far from where we are now," St. Hubbins replied. "After lunch, if you still feel up to a long flight, we'll fly down to the Bristol Channel and see if any warships are about."

"Will the sailors be afraid of me?" she asked.

"Maybe, and maybe not. The Corps is under the authority of the Navy, after all, so they ought not to see us as an enemy. Dragons cooperate with the Navy more than they do with the Army, so they'll be more used to the sight of you. And, of course, if we meet with a dragon transport ship, those are the most cooperative of all; the only reason they exist is to take dragons to places that are too far for them to fly. But the average sailor is a lot like the average soldier. If you get too close without warning them first... most people don't like that."

"Why?" Spina was honestly puzzled. "Are they afraid I'm going to eat them?"

"Some of the less intelligent ones might fear that, yes."

Spina thought that over. "I have the answer! Rose, after I eat, do not clean me up. That way, the sailors can see that I have already eaten my fill for the day, and they will not be afraid of me. You can clean me later in the day."

Rose smiled. "Spina, if you came at them with a gory muzzle, I think that would have the exact _opposite_ effect of reassuring them. But it's good that you're trying to think of ways for dragons and humans to get along better. Most humans are content to be afraid of dragons, and I think most dragons are content to not understand why that is so."

They returned home, Spina waited patiently while her riders took their lunch, and then they flew away to the southwest. It took two hours until they sighted the sea; Spina's long wings carried them effortlessly. A steady flow of merchant ships was coming and going up and down the Bristol Channel, but no warships were in sight.

"That's because they're all guarding the Channel," St. Hubbins explained. "The English Channel, that is. When the Spanish come, we'll need every ship we have, and they won't have time to get into position. They'll have to be ready to sail as soon as wind and tide permit. Bristol and the other ports on this channel are too far away to use as sally ports for the fleet."

"Have we come here for nothing, then?" Rose asked.

"No, Bristol is an active secondary port for the Admiralty, and there are sometimes advantages to not being close to the zone of battle. We might see a damaged ship heading up the Channel for repairs, or a freshly-repaired ship heading down. Spina, pray fly up and down the length of the channel, rather than back and forth across it. Our chances of sighting a warship shall be greater."

About twenty minutes later, Spina called back, "That ship ahead looks different from the others. Is that a warship?"

"It might be," St. Hubbins said as he leaned to the side so he could see around her neck. "Rose, ask her to fly lower, please." Rose relayed the order, and Spina did so. They swiftly overtook the ship, which was tacking down the channel against the wind. She was a square-rigged caravel, newly-built and armed for war, with the word "FIREDRAKE" painted in gold on her fantail. Members of the crew soon noticed the dragon coming up astern. To St. Hubbins' surprise, they waved enthusiastically and gestured for the dragon to land on deck.

"Ahoy, the dragon!" the captain hailed them through a speaking trumpet as they pulled alongside.

"Ahoy, the Firedrake!" St. Hubbins shouted back as loudly as he could.

"Can you land on deck?" the captain called.

"What do you think, Spina?" Rose said. "I think you will just fit between the first and second masts. But you must land on the very centerline of the ship, or your weight might tip it over."

"I think I can do it," she said confidently, swung out to the right, and came straight at the ship from the starboard side. The ship's crew scrambled to get out of her way, and she made a near-perfect landing (aside from a few grooves in the deck from her claws). The deck creaked from her weight, and the ship settled in the water a bit, but otherwise there were no signs that Her Majesty's ship had just taken on a passenger of unusual size. St. Hubbins saluted the flag, then the ship's commander, who returned the salute crisply.

That commander strode over to them without a trace of fear. "Lieutenant Bradley Paisley, of Her Majesty's ship Firedrake," he introduced himself.

"Lieutenant David St. Hubbins, on Spina."

"Welcome aboard, and I truly mean welcome! Your arrival is well-timed," the Navy lieutenant said.

"How so?" St. Hubbins asked.

"As you can see, we're a brand-new ship, completed just in time to face the Spanish. As we approached commissioning, my officers and I all agreed that, on account of our name, we needed to find a dragon from the Aviator Corps to serve as our lucky dragon. Most of us have been in action before, and we know what a comfort it is to see one of our dragons overhead."

The first mate added, "Especially when enemy dragons are about!"

"But we had no idea how to go about finding a proper dragon," the blue-clad lieutenant continued. "So we set sail, trusting to Providence, and here you are! With your consent, we would like to name you HMS Firedrake's official dragon. Whenever we go into action, we'll look for you overhead, and if we see you, we'll take that for a sign that we're destined for victory. And, seeing how the Spanish will certainly come sooner or later, we're sure to see some action."

"That sounds very exciting," Spina interjected.

"We are willing," St. Hubbins answered, "and in return, we will name you our dragon's patron ship. Whenever we overfly the Navy, we'll look for you, and if there's any help a dragon can give you, you'll get it. You just need to be aware that Spina is still growing, and in a week or so, she'll be too big to land on your decks anymore."

"So she'll be a big one? So much the better! Midshipman, fetch a bottle of wine from the stores!" While they waited, the lieutenant introduced his other officers and his ranking enlisted men. St. Hubbins introduced Spina herself, and "Ensign Ross Smalls," who nodded wordlessly. The men stared curiously at Spina; very few of them looked or acted afraid. The midshipman finally returned with a bottle of a reasonably good claret and two glasses. The two lieutenants toasted each other, each other's commands, and their future success.

An ordinary seaman named Rodgers, perched in the rigging on the foremast, was unusually curious about her. "She doesn't breathe fire, does she?" he asked.

"No, but I can spit a deadly venom that destroys anything it touches, and that's just as good," the dragon answered as she raised her head to face him. Rodgers was visibly startled; he hadn't realized that dragons could talk.

"That sounds like a fine way to sink an enemy ship. Can you demonstrate?" the first mate wondered.

"Not on board; it's too dangerous," St. Hubbins said. "Throw something overboard, something that will float, and you'll see what Spina can do." A quick search turned up a leaky bucket, which was duly cast over the side. Spina shot a quick burst, and the bucket sizzled and blackened as it sank.

The first mate shivered, but muttered, "I'd trade half a dozen of our cannons in exchange for something like that."

"Wow," Rodgers whispered.

As they flapped away afterward, Spina asked, "What was all that about?"

"Sailors are very superstitious," St. Hubbins explained. "The Corps will protect and fight alongside any ship in the navy, of course, but it makes this lot feel better to think that one special dragon is looking out for them. It did no harm to go along with their idea, and you've satisfied your curiosity about ships and sailors as well. The chances of us ever seeing this ship again are remote – it's a big navy on a big ocean. But her sailors will sleep a bit more soundly, knowing that there's a dragon who thinks they're special. There's nothing wrong with that." They flapped and glided steadily homeward.


	15. Chapter 15

**Every Thorn Has Its Rose** Chapter 15

Captain Packard of the Loch Laggan training covert returned to the breeding ground exactly two weeks after his first visit. As before, he did not pay his respects at the barracks, but went straight to the barn. There was no one there, so he sat down next to Locutus and waited.

After a few minutes, he looked up and saw a dragon with extraordinarily long wings flying straight lines and patterns in the sky. Her lines appeared to be very good, but her turns were far too broad for his liking. A dragon her size ought to turn much tighter than that, he felt. He waited for her to land, but she showed no signs of seeing him or of being done with her exercises.

"Locutus, how would you like to overtake that young dragon and show her how aerial maneuvers are supposed to be done?"

"I think that will be a pleasant way to spend the rest of the morning," the old dragon replied. Packard scrambled on board, clipped himself to the harness, called, "Crew is aboard!" and held on as the Greyling took a running start before taking off. The Longwing might be sloppy in her turns, but she was speedy enough; it took Locutus a few minutes to reach her altitude and begin to overtake her. When her rider saw Packard and Locutus... no, riders; they were still pursuing that nonsense about needing a woman on board. In any event, they called for Spina to fly straight and level. Locutus overtook them quickly once they slowed down.

"Your straight lines are good," he called without preamble, "but your curves are sloppy. You must turn much tighter than that if you are to maintain your place in a formation. Locutus is going to fly a square; watch how he does it, and then do as he did. Locutus, a four-beat square to the right, if you please." The Greyling flapped four times, then put a wing down and pivoted sharply to his right in a near-perfect ninety-degree turn. Four more flaps, another turn, four flaps, turn, four flaps, one last turn, and he had returned to where he'd started.

Packard rubbed his dragon's shoulder. "Well done, my friend! Now, Spina, do as he did." The Longwing did nothing.

"Spina, do what Locutus just did," Rose told her. The dragon tried, but she simply could not turn that tightly. Her "square" had badly rounded corners; it was more typical of a heavyweight's maneuvers than those of a young middleweight.

"Try it again!" Packard ordered, and Rose relayed the order. Spina tried again, with very similar results. After three more tries, she hadn't improved in any noticeable fashion, and she was beginning to get frustrated. "Let us land," Packard shouted. The two dragons touched down and curled up to rest as their riders dismounted.

"Spina has grown noticeably," the captain said. "Those wings of hers have grown right along with her. I have to assume that those wings are the reason why she cannot maneuver like other dragons of her size."

"How serious a problem is that?" Rose asked.

Packard didn't even look at her, but spoke to St. Hubbins. "If we assign her to a middleweight wing, she will be unable to maintain her place in the formation. If we put her in a heavyweight wing, then the enemy heavyweights will single her out for attacks because of her size. It is vitally important that she learn how to turn more tightly, or her career in the Corps, and your career as well, may be quite short."

"What if her elongated wings make it impossible for her to turn like the other middleweights?" St. Hubbins asked.

"In that event... I do not know," Packard answered. "I know that this is a brand-new species of dragon; her abilities and weaknesses are still mostly unknown. I will try to find a place where she will fit in, but there may have to be compromises involved."

Rose spoke up. "Sir, it seems to me that –"

"I did not ask your opinion," the training master snapped.

"Well, you're going to get it anyway, sir! Spina might be the most powerful, destructive dragon in the Corps. Instead of trying to find a place to fit her in, you ought to be fitting the rest of the dragons around _her!"_

Packard shrugged. "How typical of a woman. Overemotional, excessively protective of her own, and utterly devoid of logic."

"Sir," St. Hubbins said hesitantly, "Ensign Smalls makes a valid point. If you are going to treat Spina as just another middleweight, you will be neglecting the very features she was successfully bred for."

The captain gazed at him indulgently. "So you are telling me I ought to put your dragon at the front of a formation?"

"That would be the sensible place for her, sir," the lieutenant pressed on. "If you put her anywhere else, her acid spray might hit a friendly dragon by accident."

"All right, let me see if I understand you properly, Lieutenant. You are telling me to ignore centuries of military precedent which puts the experienced veterans in the vanguard. You are telling me to ignore the dragons' own penchant for leading with the largest and following with the smallest. You are telling me to put an immature, untrained, inexperienced dragon of an unfamiliar type in the foremost position of our newest formation... and thereby put yourself, a barely-experienced lieutenant, in command of that formation. Is this what you are telling me to do, Lieutenant?"

St. Hubbins winced at his words, but it was too late to back out now. "Once the dragon is fully grown and has gotten some experience, her rightful place should be in the front, both for effective attack and for safety. I am not seeking advancement for myself or –"

"That is fortunate," Packard interrupted, "because if you _were_ seeking advancement for yourself, you would be sorely disappointed!" Then his manner relaxed somewhat. "Don't feel bad about this, Lieutenant. You are not the first young rider who believes that his dragon is the finest creature ever to have sailed the skies, and I am certain you will not be the last. Every new dragon rider who has ever attended my training sessions has tried to gain advancement, not for his own benefit, but for his dragon's benefit. My unenviable task is to sort out which dragon/rider pairs are best qualified to be leaders. If ten new dragons and riders enter a training session, nine of them are going to be disappointed. Your dragon is young, and her abilities are untested. If she actually turns out as amazing as you seem to think she is, then she will be advanced, and you along with her. But it is I who will make that decision, not you."

"Understood, sir," St. Hubbins said stiffly.

"Very good," the captain said matter-of-factly. "My next concern is the dragon's insistence on flying with a woman. I had an idea that she might try, which could –"

"Sir," Rose interrupted, "is there a reason why you are talking about me as though I'm not even here?"

"Yes, and the reason is that you should _not_ be here. Making war from a dragon's back is no place for a woman."

Rose was struggling with her temper. "Captain, I did not choose the dragon; she chose me. I did not choose to become a part of the Aviator Corps; Admiral White conscripted me. None of this situation is of my choosing. If I had my way, Spina and I would fly away to some remote hilltop in Scotland, where I would raise sheep, sell the wool, and let my friend eat the shorn animals. But England needs this dragon, and the dragon will not serve England unless I go along for the ride. I must insist that you stop treating me as though I somehow created this situation for my own benefit or my own pleasure, because neither case is true."

Packard looked at her indulgently. "So you have gotten into the habit of giving orders to the dragon, and now you presume to give me orders as well?"

"Sir, I'm not trying to give anyone orders! But I've been thrust into this impossible situation, and with the exceptions of Admiral White and Lt. St. Hubbins, everyone around me seems determined to keep it impossible. How am I supposed to react, sir? I can't quit, I can't turn myself into a man, and nothing else works."

"But what if you _did_ turn yourself into a man?" Packard asked. "What if you wore your hair in a more mannish style, and loosened the fit of your trousers somewhat, and went by the name of Ross, and tried to speak in a lower voice? I would always know what you are, but everyone else would assume you were just another man."

Rose sighed. "Sir, that would work, right up until the moment I bathed with the others. Then my situation would be even worse, because they wouldn't just think of me as a woman; they'd think of me as a lying, deceiving woman. No, if I'm going to do this thing, then I have to do it as Rose Smalls. I've never regretted being born as a woman, and I do not intend to start now."

"Why should she regret it?" asked Spina, who had ambled over to join the conversation. "I like her as a woman. If she was a man, I never would have chosen her."

Captain Packard was thoughtful. "Lieutenant, what are your thoughts on this matter?"

St. Hubbins took a moment to prepare his line of questioning. "Ensign, do you think of yourself as a strong woman?"

"Yes, sir," she answered without hesitation.

"You'll have to be, if you expect to make it through the training process! Have you truly considered what is likely to happen to you, once we reach Loch Laggan? The other trainees will see a woman in the covert, and they will immediately take you for some sort of camp follower. If you can disabuse them of that notion, they will be curious why you're there. As soon as they realize that you intend to show yourself to be as good as any of them, they will stop at _nothing_ to prove you wrong. It's a rare man who will admit that a woman is his equal in any endeavour, and a gang of hot-headed, ambitious young men who don' t know much about women will be the worst of the lot. You will be the subject of pranks, harassment, shunning, false accusations, and every other kind of abuse that a pack of teen-aged boys can deal out, while the officers deliberately look the other way. If you truly intend to break the gender barrier in the Aviator Corps, you will find that barrier to be an extremely rigid one."

"Lieutenant... do I have any choice?" she answered softly. "I am the only person on the planet who can convince this amazing dragon to obey. If England needs the dragon, then England has to accept me as the dragon's rider. And I am unwilling to be parted from her; she's the first true friend I've ever had. It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks of me. If breaking that gender barrier means running through it head-first... then I have to try. Failure is something I can't even consider."

St. Hubbins turned to Packard. "You heard her, sir. I'll warrant that she's as strong as any of your other trainees, in terms of single-minded determination to succeed. The real question is, will you _let_ her succeed?"

Packard hesitated. When he finally spoke, it was without the self-assuredness that normally colored his every word. "I remain personally opposed to the idea of women in the military. If Admiral White has made an exception to the rule, then I must obey his orders. No one ever told me I had to enjoy doing my duty, only that I must do it. If England requires Rose's services as Spina's rider, then I will do everything possible to ensure that she fulfills that role, for the good of England."

St. Hubbins challenged him. "Does that include taking action if others try to stand in her way?"

"You like her, don't you?" Packard said.

"I don't know about that, sir, but I respect her."

Packard blinked. "I did not expect to hear that. You want the other dragon captains to admit that Ensign Smalls is as good as they are. Are you willing to admit that she is as good as _you_ are?"

For what seemed like the hundredth time, Rose held her breath as she waited for St. Hubbins' words to promote or destroy her career.

"I do not believe that she is as good as me," he finally said, "but I believe she has the potential to reach that level. She has an intuitive sense of how to get along with her dragon; only the very best captains can say that. She may lack physical strength, but she is fully determined to succeed, she's a fast learner, and the only thing that can hold her back is outside interference. Yes, sir, she could be my equal."

"Or better!" Spina chimed in. St. Hubbins wasn't sure how he should react to that.

"Spina, since you are here and alert," Packard said, "I will ask once more to go for a ride with you."

"I will answer once more: you are welcome to go on a ride with my captain and me," the dragon replied.

"There is nothing I can say or do that will alter your course in this matter?" the training master demanded.

"Negative," she replied crisply.

"You have never gone flying with anyone other than Rose Smalls?"

"Well... I did, once, but the circumstances were unusual, and I was told by Lt. St. Hubbins never to do it again. Shall I defy his orders?"

"No, no," Packard said hastily. "Encouraging you to disobey orders is the last thing I want to do." St. Hubbins silently gasped in relief that she hadn't told him about those unusual circumstances, namely, breaking a French prisoner of war out of jail to visit his captive dragon by night.

The captain finally yielded. "Very well, then. Ensign Smalls, please take your place on your dragon. I wish to see what Spina can do in the air, first-hand."

She easily climbed up Spina's forearm onto the dragon's neck. Packard noted how practiced her actions were, then did likewise just behind her. When they were clipped in, Rose called, "Crew is aboard!" In moments, they were airborne.

"Fast takeoff," Packard intoned, as though checking off items on a checklist in his mind. "Rate of climb is rapid but slightly unsteady; the high wing-to-body-mass ratio may be responsible for that. Spina, level off and make a right-hand circle."

Spina kept climbing. Packard began to get annoyed.

"Spina, I told you to –"

"Spina, level off and make a right-hand circle," Rose told her. Immediately, the dragon did as she was told.

Packard went on talking to himself, "Circle is fairly symmetrical. Altitude control is good. Obedience to orders is close to zero."

"Captain Packard, that is _not_ true!" Spina snapped. "I obeyed my captain's orders quickly and without question. Do not falsely accuse me."

Packard sighed. "I cannot fathom how Lt. St. Hubbins can endure a situation like this."

"He accepts the situation for what it is, sir," Rose told him over her shoulder. "As do I, and as does Spina. The only resistance we are encountering at this time is from you."

"What aspect of the situation does the dragon have to accept?" he asked.

"I would rather not have a senior rider," Spina answered, swinging her head around to face him in mid-flight. "I need only one captain, and that captain is Rose. She gives perfectly good orders, and I have no difficulty in obeying her." She faced forward again; Rose relaxed. There was nothing up here to collide with except another dragon, and there weren't many of those in the air at this time, but it still made Rose nervous when her dragon wasn't looking where she was going.

"I honestly do not know how this situation will play out," the training master finally said. "Ensign, you have your senior rider's vote of confidence, and you have a good relationship with your dragon. I am willing to let you try and pass my training course, and I will not hinder you. But, as St. Hubbins has said, you will face a great deal of hindrance from the other riders and the training-ground staff, to say nothing of your own flight crew and ground crew. Spina will take orders from you, but will they?"

"I may leave those issues to St. Hubbins," she decided. "My task, as I see it, is to prepare my dragon for war. Handling a stubborn pack of men is not a part of my job description."

"In that, fair lady, you are mistaken," Packard corrected her. "If anything happens to St. Hubbins in battle, then you will become the sole commander of Spina and all her crewmen. They must be ready to take orders from you without hesitation. That means you must condition them to accept you as their senior officer. How you will accomplish that, I cannot even guess. But it will be an important part of your training. I suggest that you begin giving the matter some thought.

 _"My_ job description is not limited to training dragons, Rose Smalls. I also train the officers who command those dragons. If you are really going to ride this amazing creature as a full-fledged member of the Aviator Corps, then I must make an officer out of you. I do not train half-officers. If you do not think you can command men in battle, then I suggest that you seek alternate arrangements for your commission with Admiral White. Otherwise, I give you my word, I will push you to your limits, and then a little bit further than that, to ensure that England is defended by officers who will not flinch in the face of difficulty."

"I will not let her fail," Spina interjected. That seemed to be the end of the conversation.


	16. Chapter 16

**Every Thorn Has Its Rose** Chapter 16

Two more weeks came and went. Spina continued to grow – she weighed at least five tons by now – and she continued to eat like a horse. In fact, recently she _did_ eat a horse. It was an old draft horse that was hauling a cart containing her new, enlarged harness; it had gotten wind of her, tried to bolt and run, and injured itself in the traces. The supply system had forgotten Spina yet again, so the lieutenants decided to make a virtue of necessity and suggested that the injured horse might make a good breakfast for a dragon. Spina ate the whole thing without hesitation. "It is all right, I suppose," was her verdict, "but a bit tough. I still like cows the best."

On a Friday morning, their orders finally arrived. Spina the Longwing dragon, along with Lt. David St. Hubbins and Ensign Rose Smalls, were ordered forthwith to present themselves with all dispatch at the Loch Laggan covert for primary flight training. Lt. Michael Shrimpton was sent off to Margate, to replace an injured signal-lieutenant on a Parnassian there, and Lt. Derek Smalls was detached to Southampton, where he would represent the Corps' needs and concerns in the construction of a new, enlarged dragon-transport ship. Those two lieutenants said their farewells, wished each other well, and rode off on separate courier dragons. St. Hubbins and Rose packed their meager belongings, hung them from Spina's harness, and took flight to the northeast.

It was a long flight. Spina said she wanted to stop and rest after about six hours in the air, so they landed by the shore of a small lake. Spina experimented with wading in the water while Rose prepared a simple lunch for herself and the lieutenant.

"Is the water cold, Spina?" she called.

"I do not mind it, but I do not see the purpose of this 'swimming' that you have told me about," she answered. She plopped a huge forefoot straight down, raising a goodly splash. "You say this is meant to be fun?"

"Many humans enjoy swimming," St. Hubbins said to her, "but I suppose it's an acquired taste for dragons. I think people might be less interested in swimming if they were able to fly."

"Would either of you be willing to try swimming with me?" she asked. "It might be more fun if I was not doing it alone."

Rose bent to stick a hand in the water, and quickly pulled it out again. "Oh, that is much too cold! I don't mind swimming in the ocean, or in a pond in the summer, but _this_... this is like an ice bath!"

"I probably would not like an ice bath if it is like this," Spina decided. She waded out and shook her legs dry, one at a time, while her riders ate their lunch. Then they were on their way again.

They reached Loch Laggan as the sun was beginning to set. The huge main courtyard was nearly empty; only two dragons were there, and neither of them was a heavyweight. St. Hubbins and Smalls slid off their dragon and watched as the other two riders strode over to introduce themselves.

"Captain Brian May, on Octavius," the younger one said, with a firm handshake. "We're destined for the Courier Service, but they say we need formation training, just in case."

"Capitaine Pierre St. Pierre, on Conflagratia," said the second, with a strong French accent. "I am pleased to meet you."

"Lt. David St. Hubbins, on Spina. This is Ensign Smalls. If you don't mind my asking, why is a French rider taking training in England?"

"I was accused of crimes against the Church," St. Pierre explained. "France is no longer in the habit of torturing heretics, but the Spanish are making the decisions in Flanders now. Conflagratia and I flew across the Channel to escape being imprisoned and tormented. Now, I am very much interested in seeing France and Spain defeated. I think I will live longer that way."

"I expect that a few more new dragon/rider pairs will arrive in the next day or so, and then our training will begin," May added. "St. Hubbins, how is it that you already have a second-in-command? I thought they would assign our flight crews once the training began."

"It is somewhat complicated," St. Hubbins answered. Before May could ask any more questions, he went on, "I don't wish to be rude, but we have had a long flight today. Can you show us where we are to eat and sleep?"

"With pleasure," St. Pierre said. "If you would follow me, I will show you."

May couldn't help smiling. "Would this be a good time to sing, 'O When the Saints Go Marching In'?"

St. Hubbins matched his smile. "I think you and I are going to get along well." The four young officers strolled into the main building, with St. Pierre in the lead, leaving the dragons in the courtyard.

"So you are called Spina?" asked Conflagratia. She was a striking-looking black-and-yellow dragon with horns that curled around and under, so that they bore a superficial resemblance to Spina's venom-teeth.

"Yes, I am," Spina replied with a hint of pride. "I am the first Longwing in England. I have never seen a dragon like you on the breeding grounds before."

"That is scarcely a surprise," Conflagratia replied with her own touch of pride, "because my kind is unknown in England. I am a Flamme-de-Gloire."

"Oh. What does a Flamme-de-Gloire do?"

"This!" The French dragon turned to the nearest wall and let out a fiery blast that scorched the ancient stones and blackened the moss that grew there. Octavius and Spina both took a nervous step back.

"I thought you were going to say you were a hard-fighting middleweight," Octavius said quietly.

"I am a middleweight," Conflagratia nodded, "but I am a very special middleweight. I am told that France was very unhappy to lose my services."

"Did it bother you to change nations?" Spina asked.

"If France threatens my capitaine, then I am no friend of France," the Flamme-de-Gloire said dismissively. "England has shown great kindness to my rider, and they have fed me well. If Capitaine St. Pierre says we fight for the English now, then we will fight for the English. In any case, I am told that our most likely enemy will be Spain, so I will feel no conflict of interest if I am ordered to attack them." He turned to Octavius. "Do you do anything special?"

"I fly very fast. I am a Winchester, you see."

"I have heard of Winchesters," Conflagratia said. "I have never fought one, though. You are a lightweight, so you probably will not fight."

"I will fight if they let me," Octavius said defensively.

"How about you?" the French dragon said to Spina. "Do you do anything special?"

All her life, Spina had been very proud of her venom and its destructive ability. Now, for the first time, she had met a dragon who might be even more destructive than she was. She didn't want to show off and be made to look small. But Conflagratia had asked a reasonable question that required an answer.

"I can do this," she said, and shot a burst of venom at the rocks that the Flamme-de-Gloire had just blackened. The acid quickly ate away the burn marks and the burnt moss, and began to eat into the stone itself. They all could see the black smoke and hear the hissing sound.

"That is impressive," Conflagratia nodded. "You are very dangerous indeed, perhaps almost as dangerous as I am. Do you have two riders because one rider cannot control you?"

"No, I have two riders because the men who run the Aviator Corps will not treat with my captain, so they gave me a senior rider who talks to them and tells my captain what we need to do."

"And why will the men not deal with your captain?" Octavius asked.

"Because my captain is a lady, and the men do not approve."

"Why does that matter?" Conflagratia asked, puzzled.

"I do not understand it, either," Spina said. "A female dragon can fly and fight just as well as a male dragon, and it seems to me that Rose is just as good a captain as any man could be. But the training-master has told us that she will face problems from the men here, simply because she is not a man. I mean to help her overcome those problems."

"If there is anything I can do to help, then I will," the Flamme-de-Gloire nodded. "A capitaine is a capitaine."

Meanwhile, inside the building, St. Pierre had called for a servant and asked him to take the new arrivals to their rooms. Rose, who still had not opened her mouth to speak, was given a small room with an even smaller window that overlooked the feeding grounds. After living with men for the past six weeks, the idea of privacy seemed an incredible luxury.

As they made their way toward the dining hall, May asked, "How is it that you're just a lieutenant and your second is an ensign? I thought the Corps made every dragon's rider a captain as a matter of course. Were you broken for doing something wrong?"

"I never thought about it, to be honest," St. Hubbins answered. "I was a lieutenant when I was tapped as a possible rider for the new dragon, and I'm still a lieutenant today. Maybe the promotion papers were held up and lost, just like half of the food that was supposed to be delivered to us."

"That sounds like a typical Corps maneuver," May nodded sourly. "If they don't promote you, then they don't have to pay you so much. I'm sure Their Lordships fully approve. That's going to be hard on you and your ensign, though; everyone else is going to order you around without mercy." He turned to Rose. "You, especially. They'll make you little better than a servant if you let them."

"I'll get by," she answered in the lowest voice she could manage.

St. Pierre suddenly put his hand to his ear. "Conflagratia just breathed fire," he exclaimed. "I know that sound very well. I should see if something is wrong, or if she is merely showing off for the other dragons." He ran back toward the courtyard.

St. Hubbins turned to May in amazement. "His dragon breathes fire?"

"Yes, she's a hot one," May answered. "She's the only fire-breather in the British Isles, and I daresay the French will try every underhanded trick in the book to get her back, or to keep us from using her. That pair already knows how to fly and fight; I think they were sent to Loch Laggan to keep them safe from spies and assassins."

"Assassins? How would you assassinate a dragon?" St. Hubbins wondered.

"A poisoned animal would do the trick. Stuff its guts with bags of arsenic, then let the dragon eat it, the bags rupture inside her, and you've got your dead dragon. Perhaps a dagger coated in a particularly strong venom might work, although I wouldn't wager a copper on it, and I certainly would not want to be the one to do the deed. Or maybe they'll just try to bump off the rider, and hope that that grounds the dragon. I'm sure the French have given plenty of thought to the matter, and no one asked me to out-think them in matters of slaying dragons. Sometimes there are advantages to flying a small, common dragon like Otto; he'll never draw any unwanted attention."

They ate together at a table that had space for four times their number. The other men in the covert ate at other tables. The grown men and the teens were probably the new dragons' future flight crews and ground crews; the young boys would be future runners. They cast many curious glances toward the dragon riders, hopeful of impressing the captain of a large, powerful dragon where the chances of promotion and glory were higher.

After the meal, St. Pierre went down to the baths that lay beneath the courtyard, while Ensign Smalls stepped out to check on Spina. That left May and St. Hubbins alone. "I know we have just met, but can I say something to you, man to man?" May said nervously.

"Certainly," St. Hubbins replied.

"That ensign of yours... oh, how can I say this delicately? He looks like the sort that a certain type of man might take a fancy to. That sort of thing isn't permitted in the Corps, of course, but everyone knows it happens anyway, and you may want to keep an eye on him, for his own well-being."

"I'm not worried," St. Hubbins said, inwardly amused at the reaction such a man might get if he tried to take liberties with Smalls and learned the truth of the matter. "The ensign has no interests whatsoever in that direction, and is quite capable of taking care of herself. – Himself!" But his tongue had slipped, and May was no idiot.

"Good Lord, man! Are you trying to sneak a woman into the Corps? The training master would flay you alive if he found out! What is she, your girl friend?"

"Nothing of the sort!" the lieutenant burst out. "She's the dragon's chosen captain. Spina won't lift a talon unless Rose tells her to do so."

May was growing more shocked by the minute. "Rose? Ensign Rose? That has to be the most ridic... but whose brilliant idea was it to present a woman to a hatchling in the first place?"

"It was no one's idea," St. Hubbins said defensively. "The dragon came out of the shell rejecting every man in sight. She demanded to see some ladies, we rounded up a few, and she picked Rose. The two of them have been inseparable ever since. I'm just along for the ride, to relay orders from admirals who will refuse to deal with a lady. I've got the rank, but Rose – I mean Ensign Smalls has the position. Yes, I know it's complicated. And don't worry about the training master finding out. He already knows."

"He knows? And what does he think of this... this situation?"

St. Hubbins shrugged. "He strongly disapproves, but this 'situation' was set in motion by orders from Admiral White. Captain Packard believes in following orders."

May shook his head in dismay. "Women have sneaked into armies by dressing as men in the past, but this... how do you propose to keep it a secret?"

"We don't," the lieutenant replied. "People are bound to find out anyway, so we're going to announce it to the other trainees and get it over with. Just don't go shouting it all over the covert until we've announced it formally, if you would be so very kind?"

"Your secret is safe with me for the next 24 hours," May nodded solemnly. "After that, I doubt that any attempts at secrecy will prevail."

He kept his word. But as Rose was retiring for the night, she heard a soft knock on her door. "Who is it?" she called.

"It is Captain May, as in, 'May I enter?'"

"You may not," she answered firmly.

"I've learned your secret from Lt. St. Hubbins," he called through the closed door.

"In that event, you _definitely_ may not enter," she said, and braced a chair against the door. "I can guess what you think of me, and if you're thinking of anything other than my wish to stay with Spina, then you are completely wrong about me."

"I'm sure this all seems like an exciting adventure for a sheltered country girl," May suggested. "But someday soon, the thrill will wear off, the danger will seem excessive, your natural desire for hearth and family will grow stronger, and –"

"...and, if and when that happens, I shall certainly _not_ choose an aviator to escort me through life!" she finished. "I am retiring for the night. I am giving you fair warning, I intend to keep my saber close by my bed."

"You use a saber?" May had hoped she might be willing to explore the possibility of a dalliance; that hope was now shattered like a hatched dragon's eggshell. The dragon's name was Spina, but it seemed that the really prickly one was the rider.

"Yes, and while I am not yet an expert in its use, I can wield it well enough to cause you to never desire another woman again! Good night, sir."

"You can't kill a man for trying," he muttered as he turned around and left. "At least, I hope you won't." She waited until she heard retreating footsteps before she relaxed and lay down. She left her saber on the nightstand next to her, just in case.

This was not a particularly auspicious introduction to Rose's formal military education.


	17. Chapter 17

**Every Thorn Has Its Rose** Chapter 17

The next morning, when Rose came down to breakfast, the population at the riders' table had more than doubled. Apparently, several dragons and their riders had flown in during the night. She waited for St. Hubbins, who arrived about five minutes later, and they sat together near the middle of the table. With the exception of themselves and St. Pierre, the riders were all in their mid-teens. St. Pierre suggested that they introduce themselves, so they went around the table.

"Capitaine Pierre St. Pierre, on Conflagratia. She is a Flamme-de-Gloire." His pride in his powerful dragon was palpable.

"Captain Frederic Bulsara, on Mercurius. He's a Greyling." Bulsara had an exotic look; they later found that he had been born in Zanzibar.

"Lieutenant David St. Hubbins, on Spina. She's our first Longwing. Ensign Smalls is with me."

"Captain Roger Taylor, on Percussis. He's a Yellow Reaper." Captain Taylor had a nervous habit of drumming on the table with his fingertips.

"Captain Brian May, on Octavius. Winchester. I call him Otto for short."

"Captain Jonathan Deacon, riding Amicus. He's also a Yellow Reaper." Deacon was soft-spoken and seemed quite intelligent, and a bit out of place among the military men.

"Captain Roy Baker, on Sua. She's a Chequered Nettle." Baker was of average height, lean and muscular.

"A Chequered Nettle?" That was Bulsara. "She's the only heavyweight here, so I suppose that makes you the wing leader."

"Perhaps," Baker replied modestly. "Shouldn't the training master make that decision?"

"Dragons always sort themselves out by size and strength," Deacon said. "We can try to impose our own ideas of rank on them, but from what I've heard, it never works."

"There is more than one kind of strength," St. Pierre cut in. "A dragon who can destroy a house in one pass can make herself the equal of any Chequered Nettle."

"Sua may not agree with that," Baker replied. "She's got a very strong will. Sometimes she won't even obey me."

"I'm sure the training master will quickly sort _that_ out!" May exclaimed.

"I wish him well," Baker retorted.

Bulsara turned to St. Hubbins. "I never heard of a Longwing. What does it do?"

"She spits a poisonous acid that can eat through anything, even rock," St. Hubbins bragged.

"Rock? I should like to see that!" Bulsara plainly didn't believe it.

"I _have_ seen it," St. Pierre said. "Spina and Conflagratia were showing off their abilities to each other last night; I saw the results in wood, soil, and stone. I have never seen my dragon act nervous about another dragon's abilities before. I think this Longwing could be as destructive as my Flamme-de-Gloire."

"Great," Deacon muttered. "We've got three contenders for the title of 'wing leader.' How are we supposed to resolve this?"

Rose spoke, keeping her voice as low-pitched as she could. "If it's true that the dragons will sort out their own order, then let's give them a chance to do it. We haven't even started our training yet; it's premature to be wrangling over who gets to be in charge."

"Well said," May nodded. "Hear, hear," added Baker.

An orderly stuck his head into the doorway. "Gentlemen, finish up in ten minutes, then bring your dragons to the parade ground to meet the training master." The conversation died away as they rushed to finish their breakfasts (which were very tasty, compared to typical military food). Then they ran to the courtyard, clambered onto their dragons, and flew in a disorderly mob toward the parade ground, where Captain Packard and his supporting officers waited in a loose formation.

"Dismount!" the captain shouted in a parade-ground voice, and the trainees hastened to obey. "Form a single rank. Atten- _shun!"_ The young men (and the young woman) lined themselves up in the order they had landed, with the faster dragons' riders on the right and the heavyweight's rider at the far end.

"Welcome to dragon training," Packard began. "You have all been flying with your dragon friends for some time now. You may think you know everything you need to know. I am here to tell you that you are wrong. You have not yet _begun_ to learn what you need to know!

"In this covert, your family's rank and wealth and political connections mean nothing. Your strength and intelligence and skill with weapons mean nothing. All that matters is your ability to do what you're told, and convey your wishes to your dragon. The ones who fly and fight best as a team are the ones who will succeed. They are the ones who will protect England against her enemies, and when a dragon-against-dragon battle breaks out, they are the ones who might – I repeat, _might_ – survive the encounter. If you are here to gain glory for yourself, or take prizes, or earn medals, or rise to the top of the Corps, then I assure you, you will not succeed, and you probably will not survive. That will be no great loss, but if you also lose your dragon, England will not forgive you. Fix that thought in your heads and never forget it: the dragon is worth a darned sight more to England than you are. Teen-aged brats can be had for a shilling, but every dragon is worth its weight in gold.

"I am now going to call your names. When you hear your name, answer with, 'Here, sir!' Baker!"

"Here, sir!" Baker shouted.

"Bulsara!"

"Here, sir."

 _"I can't hear you!"_ Packard roared.

 _"Here, sir!"_ Bulsara bellowed. His voice could be quite loud when he wished it to be.

"Deacon!" "Here, sir!"

"May!" "Here, sir!"

"St. Hubbins!" "Here, sir!"

"St. Pierre!" "Here, sir!"

"Smalls!" "Here, sir!" It was hard to keep her voice low and also be loud.

"Taylor!" "Here, sir!"

"Very good," Packard nodded. "Before we go any farther, I have an announcement that Lt. St. Hubbins has asked me to make. We are departing from the way things have always been done before. I have addressed you as gentlemen, but one of you is no gentleman." He paused to let that sink in. Undoubtedly, they would assume that someone here had seriously broken the social rules and was on the verge of bringing disgrace to his family.

"Ensign Smalls is the lowest-ranking trainee here, but she is to be treated the same as –" He got no further before nearly all the trainees were exclaiming, "What?" "A lady? Here?" "Did I hear that aright?" "What do you mean, 'she'?" "This cannot be –"

"SILENCE IN THE RANKS!" The trainees clamped down on their astonishment, but they kept trying to take sideways glances at Rose without breaking their position of attention. "This extremely unconventional situation is taking place by direct orders from Admiral White. We are trying it only because the Longwing will have no other rider."

"Then replace the dragon!" Taylor muttered.

Packard strode over to stand in front of Taylor, who stiffened. "I do not believe I heard you correctly, Mister Taylor. Did I hear you suggest that we replace the dragon?" Taylor nodded mutely. "I CAN'T HEAR YOU!" the captain shouted in his face.

"Yes, sir, I said that, sir!"

"Oh, really?" The captain paced back and forth. "Let me see if I take your meaning, Mister Taylor. You ride a Yellow Reaper, the most common dragon, the most un-extraordinary dragon in the British Empire. Rose Smalls rides a Longwing, the first of what we hope will be a long line of viciously destructive beasts that will allow us to fight at even odds with the French Flammes-de-Gloire and the Spanish Flechas-de-Fuego. And you believe we ought to get rid of that Longwing, just so you will not have to deal with a woman in the ranks, even though we could be rid of you and _your_ dragon at far less cost to the Empire? Is that what you are suggesting, Mister Taylor? ANSWER ME!"

"Sir, I withdraw my statement."

"Congratulations, Mister Taylor," Packard said scornfully. "That is the first intelligent thing I have ever heard come out of your mouth. Does anyone else have any brilliant comments about this unspeakable predicament in which you now find yourselves?" There were none. "I realize that this is a most unusual situation. I solemnly assure you, I did everything in my power to prevent this situation! But, if you know anything at all about dragons, then you will know that, once they get an idea into their heads, there is no shifting it. Spina wants a woman for her rider, and we need Spina, so Spina gets what Spina wants, and the rest of us _will_ learn to deal with it. That is not a suggestion. That is an order. Anyone who thinks he cannot obey that order, take one step forward. Now!"

No one took that step. No one wanted to find out what the consequences of taking that step would be.

"Now that that's settled, let us commence," Packard continued. "You shall begin by standing by your dragons. I will inspect your harnesses for wear, deformations, and any other problems, and you will see to it that those problems are fixed immediately. You do not have your own ground crewmen yet, so you will acquire the services of whichever harnessman you find first. To your places!" The flight cadets ran to their dragons and stood at attention while Packard checked every strap, seam, and buckle. He found one or more defects in every harness he checked, and because there weren't enough harnessmen to go around, they had to wait in line.

"Sir, when will we receive our ground crews?" Baker asked.

"Ground crews will be assigned to those dragon/rider teams who have proven that they deserve such a luxury," Packard answered. "A ground crew is not a pack of idlers who can be shifted about at will. They learn the peculiarities of the dragon they work with, and they learn to anticipate orders from that dragon's captain. We will not assign a crew to a dragon who may or may not succeed in the Corps. Having a ground crew is a privilege that must be earned, by passing the initial stages of this training course."

"Are you suggesting that some dragons do not pass training, sir?" Bulsara wondered.

"I have never known a dragon who failed at training," Packard replied, "but I have known too many riders who failed. Those riders usually become flight crew or staff officers. Their dragons go to the breeding grounds for the rest of their lives. Just because you have befriended a dragon, do not take it for granted that the Corps must use you. The dragon has given you a chance at command, but you must earn it."

Spina was the first to make good her harness' deficiencies, because those deficiencies were minor. "Begin flying around the perimeter of the training area," Packard ordered. "Locutus will watch you and report to me on your flying. I am not concerned with speed at this time; I wish only to know how you fly, how you glide, and how you turn. In your case, I already have a good idea, but the formalities must be followed." Spina began taking circuits of the grounds. Mercurius and Octavius joined her a few minutes later; the lightweights were showing off their speed, in spite of Captain Packard's warning, and were soon racing around the grounds at what must have been a dizzying pace.

"This is hardly fair," Spina fussed. "They were bred to be faster than me, so of course they will outfly me! I cannot use my own special skill to make the race fair, because I would hurt someone. The Captain will think me a weakling in the air."

"He will think no such thing," Locutus answered her as he overtook her. "Thus far, you are the only one who is obeying his orders. I assure you, he finds that to be of much greater value than a turn of speed, which is a much more common thing in any case." He spun on a wingtip and flapped off to watch as Amicus joined the circling dragons. Eventually, all of the trainee dragon/rider pairs were circling the grounds at varying speeds, while Locutus watched them from every angle, and frequently glided down to tell Packard something in private before resuming his aerial inspection.

Sua was the first to slow down and quit, complaining that her wings ached from too much flying. Conflagratia went down next; whatever her many virtues might be, endurance in the air was not one of them. The two Yellow Reapers and May's Winchester gave out within minutes of each other. Spina tried to outlast the Greyling, but she finally sighed, "I cannot fly any longer," and glided down to a heavy landing. Locutus let Mercurius circle alone for ten more minutes, then ordered him to land, and followed him down.

"Riders, attend to your dragons," Packard ordered as he climbed aboard his own dragon. "Locutus will see to their supper presently."

"Supper?" Taylor exclaimed. "What about _our_ supper? What about our lunch? We missed lunch by tracing circles in the sky all day!"

"Oh, so your own supper is your prime priority, is it, Mister Taylor?" Packard snarled. "I had thought that today's first lesson was in flight endurance, but apparently I must go back to even more basic principles. Mister Deacon, please remind Mister Taylor of the first principle of dragon captaincy."

"Care for your dragon as you would care for yourself," Deacon recited. "If you cannot do both, care for your dragon first."

"Thank you, Mister Deacon!" the training captain snapped. "Mister Taylor, if you were still a schoolboy, I would require you to write that principle fifty times on the chalk board. But, unfortunately, you have outgrown such simplistic methods of learning, so I must resort to methods more suited to one who is pleased to call himself an adult. The rest of you may take your supper as soon as your dragons are fed and their harnesses wiped down. Mister Taylor, on the other hand, is going to learn the importance of putting his dragon first... by missing dinner altogether. The next time you think of complaining about missed meals, Mister Taylor, you will recall this incident, and you will be certain to care for your dragon before you even think of complaining about your own lot in life." Locutus flapped heavily away toward some distant livestock pens. About twenty minutes later, he returned, driving eight well-fed cattle before him.

"Two cows for the big lady, one for each of the rest of you," he called. The dragons hungrily pounced on their late lunches as the riders stood aside. When the gory meal was done, the riders did a quick check on their harnesses, removing any visible bloodstains, then stood in line for Packard's approval. He walked up and down the line twice before finally muttering, "Dismissed." Taylor walked around aimlessly, looking at the ancient stone buildings; Rose took a rag and began cleaning Spina's muzzle; the others made a semi-dignified beeline for the main building and the dining hall.

"What are you doing?" Taylor asked Rose.

"I'm cleaning up my dragon," she answered without looking.

"Cleaning," he scoffed. "How typical of a woman. Isn't that rather a waste of time?"

"I rather like it," Spina said. "But, Rose, you will miss your meal."

"There's plenty of food, from what I've seen so far," she said dismissively, "and you're a lot easier to clean up if I can remove the stains before they become dry. I will eat soon enough."

"You're coddling that dragon," Taylor muttered. "Military life has to be tough!" Then he had an idea. "Ensign, I am ordering you to stand down from cleaning up that dragon. Go take your meal, as the training captain ordered."

She looked over her shoulder. "Sir, I do not believe you have the authority to intervene in my relationship with my own dragon. If you sincerely wish to see a dragon neglected, then go neglect your own!"

"No, pray do not do that," Spina exclaimed. "Percussis is a nice sort of dragon and pleasant company, if a bit short on imagination. I would not wish to see him neglected."

"Ensign, I gave you an order!" Taylor exclaimed.

"Captain, I am disregarding your unlawful order," Rose retorted.

"Captain, would you be so very kind as to mind your own business?" Spina added. "I like the way my own captain takes care of me. You could learn a thing or two from her, and then you would get in less trouble with Captain Packard."

Taylor was speechless for a few seconds. At last, he asked, "Which one of you is the teacher of disrespect and impudence, and which of you is the learner?"

Rose began to answer, but Spina spoke first. "Neither of us has any need to learn from the other. We are a matched pair, well-suited to one another."

"You two definitely deserve each other," he grunted as he walked away. "It will be a wonder if you finish the training."

"You will have a right to complain," Spina called after him, "on the day when Rose is compelled to miss a meal, and you merely choose to be late." Then she faced forward again so Rose could finish cleaning off the remnants of her lunch.


	18. Chapter 18

**Every Thorn Has Its Rose** Chapter 18

Rose remembered very few details about the next three months. It was a blur of flying drills, both solo and in lines; signal practice, both reading and sending; sword-fighting lessons, using dulled blades and padded clothing; guidance in identifying and treating dragon diseases and injuries; navigation over land and over water; drills in quickly identifying friendly and hostile dragons; and a host of other military skills. The small dragons had races across varying distances, sometimes flying obstacle courses through huge wooden hoops. The larger dragons and their riders began learning to work with flight crews – mustketmen, topmen who served as boarders and fought to repel enemy boarders, belly-men who dropped gunpowder mines on targets beneath them, lookouts, and signalmen. They practiced moving along the harnesses, both lengthwise and up and down, without ever being completely unattached from their own harnesses. The latter could be frightening in mid-air, and Deacon required some prodding, both from Captain Packard and from his own dragon, before he would let himself hang from underneath the belly strap as he made his way around his dragon's midsection. They also endured forced marches and cross-country runs with weighted backpacks to toughen them up physically.

There were other trials as well. Each of the trainees was playing a subtle game of one-upmanship against the others, trying to make them look bad without getting caught at it. Those who did get caught were stiffly punished; Packard had no patience for "games" of that kind, especially if they endangered someone. Bulsara's pranks were crude and unimaginative, but he had a true gift for getting away with them. May, on the other hand, was caught in the act so frequently that he gave up trying. Rose never even attempted to play that sort of game.

She couldn't; her energy was absorbed in the training, which was physically challenging to her, and in dealing with the special abuse that was aimed in her direction by every trainee except St. Hubbins. Each of the young men, even Taylor who was ten years her junior, attempted to curry her favor in private, and when she refused to be any man's doxy, they responded as though she had personally insulted them. They always managed to sneak in an extra blow at her after each sword drill was officially over; they wrapped the signal flags around their arms to make them unreadable when it was her turn to read the signals; they ordered their dragons to crowd Spina in formation flying, forcing her to give way to avoid a collision; they tripped her in the halls and pushed her on the parade ground and tried to pull her seat out from under her in the dining hall. She took it all in silence, not fighting back, determined to prove that a woman could take it. The abuse did not pass unnoticed, though. When Baker gave her a shove on a five-mile run and sent her stumbling into a briar bush, St. Hubbins decided it was time for him to intervene, even though Baker was the stronger of the two.

He and Baker finished the run much later than the others, and both looked considerably the worse for wear. Captain Packard called them into his office. "Explain yourselves," he ordered.

"We fell while running, sir," St. Hubbins said without emotion.

"Is that why all of your knuckles are bloodied?" Packard demanded. "Is that why St. Hubbins shows signs of a recent nosebleed, and Baker has a bruise forming around his eye? I shall require a better explanation than that, or I will put the both of you on report. Out with it! What happened?"

"He threw the first punch!" Baker blurted out.

"Is that true?" the captain asked St. Hubbins.

"Sir, I was looking out for my crewmember."

"If your crewmember can't look out for herself, then maybe she shouldn't be in the Corps," Baker sneered.

"I would have done the same for a male crewmember who was being pushed around by someone bigger and stronger than he was," St. Hubbins retorted.

"That's enough, both of you!" Packard snapped. "I have a very good idea of what is going on in this group when you think I'm not paying attention. The privilege of taking part in this training, and possibly passing this training, will go to those who earn it by their own efforts." He glared at St. Hubbins. "Not to those who initiate violence against fellow Corps members, regardless of the reason." Then he faced Baker. "Or to those who forsake the ways of a gentleman and become bullies against those who are weaker than themselves! You are both on bread and water rations for the next three days. If this happens again, I shall come down on the both of you like a ton of bricks. Dismissed." They saluted, turned, and left.

The hazing against Rose tapered off for a while after that. It was replaced with a sullen silence; no one would speak to her except St. Hubbins. This made some of their team-based lessons difficult. Rose got around that by talking to the dragons, who were happy to answer any question she cared to ask them. When her tormentors saw that shunning her was doing her no harm, they stepped up the abuse again. Again, Rose took it for as long as she could. But when she awoke one morning to a foul aroma in her room, and found her boots partially filled with human ordure, she had had enough. She went to Captain Packard, holding the boots at arm's length, and deposited them on his desk.

"Sir, I beg to report that I shall be unable to pass inspection this morning," she began. He took one whiff and held up his hand for silence.

"Place those just outside my office," he ordered her, "and wear whatever footwear you can find. This is going to be a morning inspection to remember, I promise you." He left to speak to the dragons.

Captain Packard called them all away from their breakfasts and formed them up outside. "When young men go through training," he growled, "I expect you to test each other. It toughens you up and it builds esprit de corps. I do not personally approve of the more extreme examples of such behavior, yet I know it goes on. I will often turn a blind eye, unless the malefactor is so clumsy as to be caught in the act. But there are limits to what I will allow, and someone has egregiously crossed those limits today." He pointed to Rose's boots, which he'd left on the ground some distance away. "It seems that someone, or more likely several someones, have mistaken Ensign Smalls' boots for the necessary pit. Those persons are either totally blind or criminally stupid. I must ascertain which is the case. The persons responsible will now take one step forward." No one moved.

"If I do not get an immediate confession, then when I _do_ find out who did this, those persons will be expelled from the training course, dishonorably discharged from the Corps, and will never fly with your dragons again! And I assure you, I have ways of finding out." The guilty parties didn't believe him. No one stepped forward.

"Do you think the Aviator Corps cannot carry on without you? I will happily expel this entire class if I have to! I would rather do that than allow this despicable conduct to continue. The persons who did this _will not_ serve in my Corps. This is your last chance to be honest and walk away with a general discharge instead of a dishonorable." No one moved.

"Very well, then. We will do this the hard way. Spina? Locutus? I am sorry to ask this of you; I know it is distasteful; but I have to know the truth." The Longwing and the Greyling walked around behind the row of aviators. They stopped behind each one and flicked out their tongues. Then they approached the boots. Spina flicked her tongue at each of them; Locutus did likewise. "This one smells like Baker," Spina decided, "and that one... that one is definitely from Bulsara."

"I concur," Locutus nodded.

"Baker, Bulsara, pack your things and get out," Packard ordered. "You will wait in the courtyard until the next courier dragon arrives, and you will ride that dragon to his next destination, wherever that may be, and then get off and walk. Your dishonorable discharge papers will be filed with the Admiralty before the day is done. Locutus will escort your dragons to the Pen Y Fan breeding grounds, where their harnesses will be removed and you will never see them again. I hope you enjoy your new careers in the exciting field of manual labor, because those are the best jobs you're going to get for the rest of your worthless lives."

"Do you have the authority to discharge us?" Baker demanded.

"I have full authority over all aspects of this training covert, Mister Baker! I can throw you out on your ear if I so choose, and I so choose. Because you have failed this training course, that means you have disqualified yourselves from becoming aviators. I must report this to the Admiralty, and when the Admiralty asks me the reason why, and I tell them, I can say with certainty that they will see things very much as I do. Yes, I can do this. And you are in no position to challenge my authority."

"Why did you do it?" May demanded of Bulsara.

"Women have no place in the Corps!" Bulsara shot back.

"You've got it wrong, Bulsara," Packard lectured him. _"You_ have no place in the Corps! One woman, on the other hand, probably _will_ fly in the Corps, in spite of your best efforts. Or, should I say, your worst efforts? The two of you have brought disgrace to your uniform, you have robbed England of the services of two good dragons, and you have failed this training course in the most spectacularly disgusting way I have ever heard of. I would happily take a whip to your backs if I could, but your status as the sons of gentlemen prevents me. Should your fathers choose to disown you over this despicable behavior, feel free to contact me, and I will be only too happy to arrange the flogging that you so richly deserve. Now _get out!"_ The others remained at attention, stunned, as the disgraced ex-aviators stumbled back into the main building to collect their possessions.

Sua shambled ponderously toward the group. "Please understand, I knew nothing about this," she said in a low, pleading tone. "I had no idea he was going to do anything bad, or I would have said something."

"My case is the same," Mercurius chirped sadly. "Must you take my rider away from me?"

Packard shook his head. "That's the really hard part about this. You two did nothing wrong, but you're going to suffer just as much as your riders will."

"Can we not stay together with them in some way?" Sua begged. "Any way at all?"

"They are out of the service in dishonor, so they cannot ride you anymore," Packard said firmly. "You will go to the breeding grounds, where you will be well cared for. If you are willing, you can choose new riders who will not act disgracefully."

"There will never be another rider for me," the Chequered Nettle said firmly.

"Can I think it over before I give my answer?" the Greyling asked. "The breeding grounds sound like a very lonely place."

"Please do think it over," the training captain said. "England can always use dragons who are swift, strong, and who know what honor means."

As they watched the shocked pair of dragons stumbling away, Locutus murmured in his captain's ear, "Why did you discharge the men? Was there no other way to discipline them without losing the services of their dragons?"

"Locutus, if they had continued as they have begun, then they would have broken Ensign Smalls, and we would have lost the services of Spina instead of Sua and Mercurius. That Longwing is worth more to England than the other two dragons put together. Those idiots forced me to choose between themselves and the Ensign, and I did what I had to do. But I assure you, my old friend, I did not enjoy it."

"Would you have enjoyed whipping them, if that could have served the purpose?"

"I think I would have entrusted that punishment to a subordinate," Packard decided, "because I would have enjoyed it far too much. That's no sport for an officer and a gentleman." He turned to Spina. "Would you be so kind as to destroy those disgusting boots, please?"

"With pleasure, sir!" Two swift squirts of venom later, the offensive footwear was gone, replaced by two smoldering holes in the ground.

For the next few days, the aviator trainees were in something close to a state of shock. No one talked to anyone else at the dining table; no one encouraged anyone else on the long-distance runs. They went through their drills and tests with as little conversation as possible. Rose realized that the others blamed her for the ejection of the two aviators, even though it was emphatically their own fault and not hers. As the normal social interactions slowly reasserted themselves, she was left as a social outcast. Only St. Hubbins would speak to her, and he tried to keep the discussion strictly professional. That left her with no one to confide in except Spina.

'I think they are very rude," the dragon decided. "You are doing just as well in your training as any of them. In fact, I overheard Captain Packard telling Locutus that you are number-two in the class."

"Number two out of five," she nodded glumly. "I'm sure Lt. St. Hubbins is number one, because he has done this kind of thing before. That means I'm doing better than May, Deacon, and Taylor, three teen-aged boys. That's not a lot for a twenty-four-year-old woman to be proud of."

"Considering that this is all entirely new to you, whereas they have been trained and conditioned to it since they were boys, I would say it is quite a bit to be proud of," Spina retorted.

"That means, of course, that I am making the young men look bad. I don't suppose they will ever forgive me for that."

"What of it?" Spina asked. "Once you have earned your place in the Corps, no one can do anything to take it away from you. You will have achieved something that no woman has ever done before!" She considered that thought. "That will mean that you are a special rider, just as I am a special dragon. We will truly belong together."

"We'll belong together, no matter what," Rose promised her. "One of the things that's kept me going in the face of all this persecution is knowing that, if they succeeded and they broke me, I couldn't stay with you anymore. I won't let those Neanderthals make me fail, because you mean too much to me."

Spina didn't answer. She just lowered her head and rested it on Rose's shoulder. Rose closed her eyes and hugged the thick blue neck.

The next day, at morning formation, Captain Packard held up some battered, stained, but official-looking papers in his hand. He flipped one open. "This Corps document is dated almost two months ago. Somehow it was delivered to the Penny-Fanny Dance Hall in Huddersfield, Yorkshire, instead of to the Pen Y Fan breeding ground in Wales. It has taken the powers-that-be this long to rectify the error and route these papers to the correct destination. I will offer no comments on Corps efficiency in this case." He paused to let the trainees smile for a moment. "According to this dispatch, Lt. David St. Hubbins is to be promoted to Captain, by virtue of his becoming the senior rider of the dragon Spina. The promotion is retroactive in terms of your seniority, but not in terms of back pay. Again, I will offer no comment, except to say, 'Congratulations, Captain St. Hubbins.'" He nodded; the others applauded politely.

He unfolded the other paper. "This document was similarly misrouted. It states that Ensign Rose Smalls is also to be promoted past Lieutenant, directly to Captain, by virtue of becoming the chosen rider of the dragon Spina. It is dated one day later than Captain St. Hubbins' promotion, so he still outranks you by a small margin. Congratulations, Captain Smalls. How does it feel to be the highest-ranking woman in the Aviator Corps?"

"I... I don't know what to say," she stammered.

"I think she already _was_ the highest-ranking woman in the Aviator Corps," Captain May chimed in, "mostly because she's the _only_ one."

"True, but it does not detract from your achievement, Captain Smalls," Packard said with a trace of a smile. "It may interest you to know that your orders have more signatures and initials on them than any other promotion papers I have ever seen. Apparently, it took Admiral White considerable pains to get your promotion approved by the Corps hierarchy."

"I am in his debt, sir," she nodded.

"You both may visit the supply station to obtain your new rank insignia, at some point during the day," Packard went on, shifting to his parade-ground voice. "For now, you will all mount your dragons. I was not happy with the results of yesterday's line-shifting exercise, so we are going to work on it all morning, by which I mean _you_ are going to work on it all morning! Move out! The last one aboard is last in line for lunch!" They ran for their dragons; the captain's methods of motivation were effective.

After Sua and Mercurius had left, the dragons had re-worked out their own order of precedence. Conflagratia took first place, due to her fire-breathing ability and her strong personality. Spina was ranked second due to her burgeoning size and her acid spray, followed by Deacon's Amicus, Taylor's Percussis, and May's Octavius. The Flamme-de-Gloire took the first position in line-ahead drills, the rightmost position in line-abreast formations, the best places to sleep, and the best animals at feeding time. Rose had mentioned to Spina that she was bigger than Conflagratia now, and perhaps she should consider taking the first position someday soon and seeing what happened.

"I do not like that idea at all," Spina had replied. "Conflagratia has a bad temper. Even if she did not burn me, she could be very nasty if I challenged her. I am content with the second position. I certainly do not go hungry that way."

There was no denying that St. Pierre made a good wing leader. He knew his signals, and he was always aware of the positions of the other dragons, so when he called for formation changes, he never asked for a maneuver that was impossible or dangerous. St. Hubbins, as the wing-second, was nearly as good; Rose had no problems putting her confidence in his orders, even if she couldn't see the big picture while she was focused on guiding Spina. Everyone was given a turn to be the wing-leader for one day, so they could have some practice in that position, should they ever need it in the future. One day each was all they could manage; more than that, and Conflagratia began to turn aggressive toward the dragon who was temporarily replacing her. Rose's turn at being the wing-leader was marked by stiff, formal obedience from the men, with no hint of camaraderie or fellowship.

Rose thought she knew what it meant to do a hard day's work, but her past experience in running a household had not prepared her for this. She never felt rested; the interval between evening Taps and morning Reveille felt like barely an hour if it was a good night, and considerably less on most nights. She staggered from lesson to lesson, willing herself onward through sheer stubbornness and a heartfelt desire to not lose Spina. The dragon sometimes finished the day with her wings drooping and her tail dragging, but she too was unwilling to quit.

Exactly how she made it through that difficult time, she never knew. But she found a huge clue one morning when Packard complimented her on the shine of her boots during the day's first inspection. She simply nodded, then remembered that she had fallen into bed the previous night without shining her boots, or even removing the mud from them. Someone else had done it for her during the night. The possible helpers were very few in number; she had a pretty good idea who was helping her behind the scenes. She wouldn't thank him until she was certain. But it was a relief to know that someone had her back, in more ways than one.


	19. Chapter 19

**Every Thorn Has Its Rose** Chapter 19

 _A/N  
Sometime shortly after the posting of the previous chapter, this story got its 1,000th hit. Thank you to all my readers._

 **o**

"One hundred and fifteen feet? You are certain?"

"Yes, sir," Rose called. Their weekly measurements of Spina's length and wingspan were not so different from the measuring sessions that the other riders performed, except that they had to use the tape measure for heavyweight dragons to measure her middleweight wings. This week's measurements were almost the same as last week's, and those of the week before.

"That means you're just about done growing, Spina," St. Hubbins said affectionately. "You're officially an adult dragon. You'll add an inch or so every now and then, but the days of fitting you with a new harness every week or two are over."

"What does that mean to me?" Spina asked.

"For one thing, it means you can be fitted for your battle harness," her senior captain began. "That, in turn, means that Captain Packard can think about assigning your flight crew. In other words, you're a big step closer to becoming a fighting dragon."

"Oh, I do like the sound of that!" Spina nodded vigorously. Nodding and shaking the head were not gestures that dragons used naturally, but the more human-centered among them tended to pick up such habits from their riders. "All these drills are becoming quite tiresome."

"He said you're closer to becoming a fighting dragon, Spina," Rose admonished her. "He didn't say you were there yet. I'm sure there will be a lot more drills before we're done."

"Perhaps not," Packard shouted as he strode to the center of the courtyard. "All dragons and riders, gather around me!" His voice was urgent, not his usual parade-ground tone. The six riders quickly formed a loose circle around him, and the six dragons (including Packard's own Locutus) formed an outer circle.

He held up a dispatch. "This just came in by the morning courier. We've received word that the Spanish Armada has sailed. Unfortunately, this message took a week to reach us, so they could be anywhere by now, even approaching the Channel. I don't consider any of you to be combat-ready yet, but their Lordships leave me no leeway in the matter. I am ordered to send all battle-worthy dragons and riders south to Dover, to prepare to defend England's soil against her first invasion in over five hundred years."

"We know how to fight," Amicus growled. "We will make you proud of us."

"I have looked forward to this moment for a very long time," St. Pierre also growled.

"When will our dragons be fitted with their battle harnesses?" Deacon asked.

"There is not time to make them," Packard replied. "You will fly with the harnesses you have, and hope for the best. You will probably be assigned in support to one of the established wings, so the absence of armor should prove no handicap."

"What about the flight crews?" St. Hubbins wondered. "How can they function correctly, especially the belly-men, without the battle harness?"

"There ought to be a time for crews, captains, and dragons to work together, to grow used to one another," the training captain said. "But there is no time for that, either. In any case, there are not enough qualified men at Loch Laggan to form full crews for all of you. Your designated crewmen were not scheduled to arrive here for at least another month, so we will use the men we have. The Yellow Reapers will each be assigned two topmen, two musketmen, and a signalman who must do double duty as lookout. Conflagratia will receive the same complement, plus one extra topman because she is such a high-value target. Octavius, being a lightweight, will get one topman to protect against boarding; he cannot carry much more than that without seriously handicapping himself."

"What about Spina, sir?" St. Hubbins asked.

"I'm sorry," Packard sighed. "I have specific orders from the Admiralty that you are to remain behind."

"What?" "What?" "What?" Rose, Spina, and St. Hubbins said in quick succession.

"No reasons were given," Packard explained. "My own suspicion is that they are unwilling to send a lady into battle."

"But that's what they've been training me for!" Rose protested. "I'm a full-fledged captain in the Corps! I've been through the same training as everyone else! What was the sense in yanking me out of civilian life, drafting me into the military, and training me to fight if I'm not to be allowed to fight?"

"Sir, this could be England's darkest hour," St. Hubbins added urgently. "Every dragon is needed, especially one as powerful as Spina. Holding her back makes no sense at all."

"Those are the orders," Packard said with a touch of firmness. "Admiral White most likely called in many favors to get you assigned to this training, and to get you promoted. Now that this situation has arisen, he has no favors left to call. Their Lordships yielded and accepted Rose into Corps training when it was all theory; now that the theory has become reality, they balk and show their true colors. In any case, the orders will be obeyed. Won't they?"

"Yes, sir." "Yes, sir." "Yes, sir, I suppose."

"Very good. Pray help the others with their preparations; you can make a contribution in that sense." St. Hubbins assisted Amicus and his new crew, while Rose did what she could for Percussis. In less than an hour, the crews were aboard and the dragons ready.

"Go, and God speed!" Packard called. He saluted as the four dragons bounded into the air and headed south. When they were out of sight, his arm fell limply to his side.

"You wish you were going with them," Rose observed.

"You have no idea how right you are," Packard sighed. "For my entire life, I have trained and prepared for this moment, and now that it has finally come... they tell me I am too old. Like you, I must obey my orders and stay behind." They ate their lunch together in dismal silence. Packard canceled their afternoon training. A cloud hung over the supper table as well.

Sometime after the full moon had risen, Captain Rose Smalls stole out of the main building. She wore her normal uniform, plus her saber and a pistol in her belt. She crept quietly toward the place in the courtyard where Spina always slept.

"Going somewhere, Captain Smalls?" came a voice out of the darkness.

"St. Hubbins!" she gasped. "You really gave me a turn."

"And what, precisely, are you doing here at this time of night?"

"Why, I was... I was checking on Spina. I know she's disappointed about not joining the battle, and I wanted to make sure she is all right."

"I see," St. Hubbins nodded as he stepped closer. He, too, wore his saber and pistol. "And that, of course, is why you are dressed for flying and battle. You weren't, by any chance, contemplating taking Spina south in defiance of orders, were you?"

Rose steeled herself. "Yes, actually, that is exactly what I was contemplating. And I think you're contemplating the same thing! I can't help noticing that you are also dressed for battle."

"Good. Then we're in agreement."

"All of us agree," Spina added.

"Hold it, you rebels," came Packard's voice. "I had a feeling that you might try something like this. Which part of 'remain behind' do you not understand?"

St. Hubbins thought fast. "What, exactly, were the orders concerning Spina, sir?"

"The orders said that she was to remain behind."

"We've done that!" Rose exclaimed. "The other dragons have departed; we remained behind. The orders didn't say _how long_ we had to remain behind, did they?"

"Captain Smalls, that kind of thinking will get you locked in the guardhouse," Packard answered. "You cannot suppose that the Admiralty's wishes were anything other than that you should stay out of the battle?"

"Admiral White said something once," Spina interrupted. "He said that subordinates are expected to obey their senior officers' orders, not their wishes. We have obeyed the orders. Now we must go and help save England."

"You realize that you could be court-martialed for this?" the training captain reminded them.

"If England loses this battle, then our own fates will mean nothing at all," St. Hubbins decided. "This may not be strictly in accordance with their Lordships' wishes, but it's the right thing to do, and I feel I have to do it."

"As do I," Rose added.

"And I," Spina echoed.

"Then go with God, you rebels, and be careful," Packard said, and stepped away from them. Spina's riders were quickly aboard and away in the darkness.

"Should we go with them?" Locutus asked quietly.

"You and I are both too old," Packard said sadly. "We would only get in the way, or we would become useless casualties. Besides, if I leave, I will be guilty of abandoning my command in time of war. They would surely hang me for that, whether we win or lose." He patted the dragon affectionately. "Not only that, but if we go, who will train the next generation of aviators? This batch was far too unruly and undisciplined. Next time, we must crack the whip over them!"

"Perhaps the next batch will be more pliable," Locutus suggested.

"Or perhaps the next batch will not include a woman," his rider replied hopefully.

"She turned out to be an above-average captain, though, did she not, Packard?"

After a moment, the captain nodded. "Yes, I suppose she did, in some ways. I only hope she survives her baptism of fire."

For the first time in years, Captain John Luke Packard, commander of the training covert at Loch Laggan, abandoned his comfortable quarters, curled up with his dragon, and spent the night in the courtyard beneath Locutus' wing.

 **o**

"We're really doing it!" Rose exclaimed. "We're actually doing what they trained us for."

"I cannot wait for a glimpse of those Spanish ships!" Spina added eagerly.

"Slow down, you two," St. Hubbins demanded. "The chances of us catching up with the other dragons are slim to none. And if we do, they may refuse to cooperate with us because they know we're disobeying orders. Are we going to go into battle all by ourselves, with no support? We'd be picked off by the first Spanish dragon formation that sees us! This grand adventure would be over in no time."

"All right, I can see your point," Rose said. "What do you suggest?"

"I guess we need to go to Dover, report in, and hope they don't jail us for violating orders," he replied. "Then they'll assign us to a fighting wing and we'll prepare for action."

"You _hope_ they don't jail us?" Rose repeated. "I'm sorry, Captain, but I'm not willing to put much faith in their Lordships' willingness to do the right thing. We're technically in violation of orders, which could be a hanging offense if they chose to make it so. Even at this dire moment, they'd probably rather make an example of us than put us to good use."

"Well, do you have any ideas?" He paused and glanced at the stars, puzzled. Then he looked over Rose's shoulder at the harness-mounted compass. "You're off course, Rose. Dover is to the south-southeast. We're bearing almost due south."

"I know," Rose nodded. "I discussed this with Spina this afternoon. We aren't going to Dover. We're going to Pen Y Fan."

"And what do you propose to do at Pen Y Fan?"

Spina answered that with a touch of pride. "I am going to form my own fighting wing."

 **o**

Spina roared loudly to draw the attention of as many dragons as she could. Several dozen stuck their heads out of their caves to see what the commotion was about; about half joined her as she landed to hear what she had to say.

"There is going to be a great battle very soon," she began. "The Spanish are sending over a hundred ships against us; our fleet is very much outnumbered, and if the Spanish brought dragons with them, then our Aviator Corps may also be outnumbered. I was told to stay behind, and they offered me no flight crew, but I am going to fight anyway. There will be glory, action, and many targets. Who will come with me?"

The great majority of them shook their heads in disgust and turned away. Redonculus, the Parnassian, spoke for most of them when he growled, "Let the humans fight their battles. Why should I risk my life, why should I even care who wins or loses, as long as they still bring me my food every day?"

"Besides," Patricia added, "if we leave the breeding grounds without a harness, anyone who sees us will shoot first and ask questions later. The potential rewards are not worth the risk." In barely a minute, only two dragons from the breeding grounds remained, and they were two of the smallest: Mercurius and Rapide-flèche.

"I am very willing to fight," Mercurius said, "but without captains or crew, what can we do?"

"I just need some dragons to keep the boarders off of me," Spina answered. "I have no flight crew, only my captain and my senior rider. As soon as the Spanish see how destructive I can be, they will swarm me and capture me if they can."

"But what if they board me instead?" Rapide-flèche asked.

"Without riders, you are completely safe from boarders," the Longwing reassured him. "The purpose of boarding a dragon is to hold his captain hostage and force the dragon to surrender. You have no captain on board, so they can have no power over you. All they could do is threaten you directly, and if they did you any harm, you would crash and take them down with you. The Spanish dragons might be a threat to you, but small dragons like you are nimble; you should be able to dodge their attacks."

"But only if we see those attacks in advance," Rapide-flèche noted. "I do not want to be ambushed in the sky again."

"Then I will be the lookout," St. Hubbins offered. "Rose won't need me to relay orders, because no will be giving us any orders. I will ride facing backwards. If I see an attack developing from behind us, I will point to the dragon who will be threatened, then point in the direction from which the attack will come. Neither of you will be taken by surprise, I promise you."

Rapide-flèche considered the odds. "I will go," he decided. "Spina has been a true friend to me; I will do this for her, even though I care little whether England wins the battle or not. I am only a Pou-de-Ciel, but perhaps I can do something brave."

"I will also go," Mercurius added. "I may be small, but I have always known that dragons need to fight their enemies." He called toward the retreating backs of the other dragons, "If the larger dragons are unwilling or afraid to fight, then perhaps the example of a Greyling going into battle will encourage them to do the right thing!" He got no response.

"My friends, I am touched my your loyalty," Spina said. "We should go immediately."

"Can we stop and pick up my capitaine?" Rapide-flèche asked hopefully.

"We could, but I do not think that is a good idea," Spina decided. "If you have a rider, then the Spanish can board you and capture you. You are safe from their boarders as long as you carry no rider."

"With no riders and no harness, will the English take us for ferals?" Mercurius asked. "Will they shoot at us, as Patricia said?"

"Frankly, I do not care what they think of us," Rose answered. "They've done nothing but obstruct us and hinder us from doing the duty they've trained us for. I don't expect they'll be thankful when we're done, either. But they won't shoot at you, if that's what you're worried about. They'll see us in formation, and they'll see Spina's harness, and they won't think anything of it."

"Shall we practice flying in a line while we head for the battle zone?" Rapide-flèche suggested.

"We shall practice," Spina answered, "but we will not fly in a line. That would offer me no protection against attacks from behind. I think it would be best if we flew in a 'V' formation, with the two of you behind me to either side, and slightly above me."

"That is extremely unconventional," Mercurius said. "We were not taught that in our training. It goes against every principle we have ever learned."

"It does not go against common sense," Spina answered him. "I am not convinced that the humans understand aerial combat as well as we dragons do. They fight in lines on the land and on the sea, so they assume that lines must be best everywhere. But fighting in the air is different from fighting on land or on the sea. The humans fight in two dimensions; we fight in three. Our formations should take that into account." She turned back to face Rose and St. Hubbins. "What do you think of my idea?"

"It's like you said," Rose said thoughtfully. "We're going to fight in three dimensions, and I can't fly, so I can't say I understand all the issues. I'm willing to trust your judgment, Spina."

"We're already in trouble for breaking several dozen regulations," St. Hubbins added. "What's one more? If you really think this V-formation is better than a line, then I'll try it."

"Excellent!" Spina exclaimed. "Then let us find some enemies!" The three dragons sprang into the air and headed for Dover.


	20. Chapter 20

**Every Thorn Has Its Rose** Chapter 20

They landed in the Dover covert the next morning. Half a dozen light courier dragons were there, including Julius, but no fighting dragons were to be seen except for two middleweights whose wounds were being tended by a dragon physician. Those wounds appeared to be gunshots, not cannon wounds or dragon-claw marks. St. Hubbins strode toward the office, while Rose looked for some food for the dragons.

"The Spanish were halfway up the Channel before anyone spotted them," the ensign at the desk informed St. Hubbins. "Wind and tide were on their side; why they didn't attack our ships in their harbors, no one knows. The fleets have already tangled inconclusively, and we broke up their anchorage with some fire ships last night, but the Spaniards are still very dangerous. All the dragons have headed for the fleet action; they left about two hours ago. I believe they mean to meet the fleet and catch the Spanish off Gravelines. If you hurry, you may get into the action in time."

"We've been flying all night," St. Hubbins explained. "We need to rest our dragons for a few hours at the very least, and they're hungry as well."

"Of course they are," the ensign said wearily. "Every fighting dragon in England has passed through this covert in the past day, and they were _all_ hungry! There isn't a sheep or a pig to be found within ten miles of here. But wait a moment. Who is 'we?" I thought all the dragons had already reported for action."

"We were detained at Loch Laggan," St. Hubbins almost-lied. "'We' means Spina and Mercurius." He omitted to mention Rapide-flèche; it would be hard enough to explain unharnessed, riderless dragons without the even greater complication of a French beast in their improvised formation.

The ensign took his quill and wrote their names near the bottom of a long parchment. "I don't think much of sending trainees into battle, but nobody asked for my opinion, and this is all or nothing for England. I'd suggest joining the first formation you find, rather than trying to join your own line. It's likely that every line will take heavy casualties, so whoever you join, they'll be thankful for the reinforcements."

"Casualties?" St. Hubbins queried him. "Did the Spanish bring dragons with their fleet?"

"According to a message from Sir Francis, they brought lightweights on some of their ships, and they have some bigger ones who flew up to Flanders. The Spanish plainly mean to defeat us by means of boarding actions, both at sea and in the sky. Our ships are nimble enough to avoid them, but our dragons may not be so fortunate. That reminds me; I hope your musketmen brought their own powder. There is a great shortage of powder; the fleet itself is running low, and I have none to offer you here."

"We have all the powder that we need," St. Hubbins answered, without mentioning the fact that he needed no powder at all because his dragons carried no musketmen. "Is there be anything else I need to know?"

"Go with God," the ensign said, "and waste as little time as you can." St. Hubbins nodded and returned to the landing field.

"I have good news and bad news," he announced. "The bad news is that there is no food for us here."

"That is most unpleasant," Spina lamented. "I hate to fight a life-or-death battle on an empty stomach."

St. Hubbins went on, "The good news is that the Spanish have dragons as well as ships, so you'll get to fight them, Spina." That improved her attitude considerably.

"Can we stay and rest for a while?" Rapide-flèche asked plaintively. "I do not like to complain, but flying for long distances is not a thing I am good at."

"I think we ought to get moving as quickly as we can," St. Hubbins suggested.

"I am a Greyling; my wings are still strong," Mercurius announced.

"Rapide-flèche, you shall ride on my back until we reach the battle," Spina decided. "I have no crew, so there is plenty of room for you."

"Spina, you've been flying all night, too!" Rose exclaimed. "Are your wings strong enough to get us to the battle, and then fight the fight of your life?"

"Well... perhaps a short rest might be best," Spina said with a touch of reluctance.

"If Spina needs to rest, then I think we all should rest," St. Hubbins decided. The small dragons lay right up against Spina, while the humans leaned against her. The warmth of the larger dragon, and the sound and rhythm of her steady breathing, soon lulled them all to sleep. It was past ten o'clock when they awoke, took a quick drink of water, and headed out to find the battle, with Rapide-flèche riding alertly on Spina's back and Mercurius flying just above and behind her.

Rose was fighting butterflies in her stomach. The harsh, brutal reality of warfare was surely about to hit her between the eyes. This wasn't the fate her mother had raised her for! Would she panic and become useless if she was injured, or if St. Hubbins or – God forbid – Spina was hurt? She didn't know. But England needed Spina, and Spina would not fight without Rose. Rose would do her duty. Even if it... never mind.

As they approached the place where they expected to see action, they noticed a solitary ship below them. "Perhaps they're bringing a message to Lord Howard or Sir Francis," St. Hubbins speculated.

"It doesn't look like they're moving," Rose observed.

"That is my ship!" Spina suddenly exclaimed. "It is the Firedrake! They were so eager to see battle; why would they be just sitting there?"

"Perhaps something is wrong," St. Hubbins thought out loud. "Spina, please spiral down and let's see if we can help." Spina surprised him by doing as he said, instead of waiting until Rose repeated his order. At first, the sailors didn't recognize her.

"Is that Spina?" Lt. Paisley finally called. "You've gotten huge!"

"Thank you," she answered with a draconic smile.

"Is anything wrong, Lieutenant?" St. Hubbins shouted.

"Our steering chains have broken!" he called back through his speaking trumpet. "We'll get into the battle as soon as we effect repairs. I fear there's nothing you can do to help. But knowing that you're here and watching over us is a spot of good news. Go get a Spaniard for us, and we'll see you there!"

"We shall do so, gladly!" Spina called. They waved at one another once more; then the dragon regained her altitude and resumed searching for the battle.

"I hear thunder," she announced after a few minutes. "But it does not sound quite right."

"That's the sound of naval gunfire," St. Hubbins corrected her. "Steer toward the sound of the guns." He turned himself around so he was facing aft. "We're getting close to the fighting, Rapide-flèche. It's time for you to take up your guarding position." The little dragon nodded, spread his wings, and allowed the wind of Spina's forward motion to lift him up. He banked to his left and took up his position there; Mercurius slid to his right to form a flying V.

"Ships in sight," Spina called suddenly. "They are on the horizon, to our right."

"I see them," Rose replied. "Change course to intercept."

Spina banked her wings to turn smoothly, and sped up. "How am I to tell a Spanish ship from an English ship?" she asked. "I would not want to attack a friendly ship by mistake."

"Watch for their flags," St. Hubbins suggested over his shoulder. "A good wind is blowing, so all their flags will be unfurled and fully visible. My worry is how to tell English dragons from Spanish dragons in a fast-moving aerial battle."

"I shall attack the Spanish ships, for they threaten England and their dragons do not," Spina said. "If a dragon attacks me, I shall take it for a Spanish dragon."

"That might be wise, or it might not," St. Hubbins warned her. "Most of our dragons have never seen a dragon like you before. If they received orders to attack anything that doesn't look English, they might take you for a foreign type and try to fight you. If that happens, what will you do?"

"I don't know," Spina said hesitantly.

"Does our flag bag have an English ensign?" Rose asked suddenly.

"Of course! That's perfect!" St. Hubbins burst out. "Good thinking, Rose. I shall run up our colors at once." He leaned over to the flag bag, found the Flag of England, and bent it on. "No one will mistake us for Spaniards now."

A burst of light to their left caught their eye. It was a cone of flame that appeared, lasted for two seconds, and vanished. "That must be Conflagratia in action," Spina noted. "Why is she not flaming more often?"

"It's probably because the Spanish dragons are all over her," St. Hubbins decided. "We need to take some pressure off of her. Spina, pick out a Spanish ship that isn't too badly damaged, make an attack run, and just after you spray it, roar as loudly as you can. If we can draw some of the Spanish dragons away from Conflagratia, we will divide their forces, and it will give her more freedom to fight." They swept over the English ships, who were firing their cannons as quickly as they could, and closed in on the Armada, whose guns were strangely silent.

"Look!" Rose exclaimed and pointed up and to their right. A line of Spanish dragons was closing in on an English formation. The Spanish were slightly outnumbered, but they made up for that by maneuvering to hit the end of the English line, instead of colliding head-on. The English commander saw them coming and swung his line around to meet them, but he was too late. The biggest Spanish dragon hit the English lightweight on the end. That lightweight fell like a broken kite.

Now the two lines of dragons met head-on, biting and clawing at each other. They were too far away for Rose to hear the roars of defiance or the screams of pain, but she could see more dragons tumbling out of the sky. One fell inertly, probably the victim of a broken neck; another spiraled down, desperately trying to gain some lift from an injured wing; still another wavered in the air, then fought its way back up into position. Then the two lines were past each other. It looked like the English had won this skirmish by a small margin. But that would be no consolation for the dead and injured dragons and men on both sides. Rose glanced at Spina, who was completely focused on selecting a target for herself, and felt a chill.

"That one, just to my right," Spina said. "It is in good shape, and I think it is flying an admiral's flag. I strike for England!" She slowed and spat a stream of her venom onto the Spanish ship's main deck. It quickly spread into a puddle two feet across, and began foaming and smoking as it ate its way through the deck. She shouted, "That was for the Firedrake!" then added a defiant roar as she resumed her forward motion.

"That ship will sink in about six minutes when the acid eats through the bottom of the hull," St. Hubbins noted. "But the other Spanish ships can't see the acid on the deck, so they won't know what happened to her. Spina, you need to do damage that they all can see, so they'll be afraid of you."

"Should I spray the outside of their hull?" Spina asked. "That would be visible, but I do not think it would sink them."

"I have a suggestion," Rose said. "A ship's masts are held up by a lot of heavy ropes, right?"

"Yes, it's called the standing rigging," St. Hubbins nodded.

"So if Spina used her venom to cut all those ropes, would the masts fall down?"

St. Hubbins thought fast. "They might, depending on the strength of the wind and how many sails they've got set. It's worth a try. Spina, instead of spraying one big puddle, hit the next ship with a stream from back to front, on the side where the wind is blowing."

"I can do that," Spina said. "Rose, should I do it?"

"Yes, and hurry!" Rose exclaimed. "I see some dragons headed our way; we have to assume they're unfriendly."

Spina chose her next target, a fat galleon, and sprayed it from end to end along the port side. The standing rigging parted almost instantly, and the masts bent with the wind that had been the sailing ship's friend a moment before. The foremast snapped off halfway up, followed by a deafening crash as the mainmast broke away at deck level. The mizzenmast somehow stayed in one piece. The two fallen masts fell over the side and immediately dragged the ship off course. Men scrambled to sever the remaining rigging and cut the broken masts away before they damaged the ship even further. Some screamed in agony as they touched the acid-severed ends of the lines.

Rose stared, mesmerized by the destruction that her dragon friend was dealing out. It seemed so effortless, the way she had ruined two first-rate Spanish fighting ships, and she had barely gotten started! Many of the enemy ships were already showing heavy damage from English cannon fire. Now the dragons were entering the fray, and England had two who could sink or devastate a ship in one pass. She noticed another cone of flame from Conflagratia, and this one lasted long enough to set its target's sails afire. Their plan was working! The Spanish had fire-breathers, but there was no sign that they had brought any. This battle was shaping up into a one-sided slaughter that would mark the end of Spanish dreams of conquest in this part of the world.

Then a cry from St. Hubbins woke her up. He pointed to both of their escorting dragons, one with each hand; then he swept both hands from side to side in a sweeping arc. "There's a line of Spanish dragons coming up behind us, and one of them looks like a heavyweight. We're in big trouble."


	21. Chapter 21

**Every Thorn Has Its Rose** Chapter 21

Rose looked over her shoulder in horror. A line of four Spanish dragons was diving into attack position behind them; they had the height advantage, and also the speed advantage because Spina had slowed down to spray her last target. One of them was utterly huge, even bigger than Sua had been; that one must be one of Spain's infamous Cauchadores Reales. One was a middleweight, a Leon de Guerre, a Spanish variation on the French Pecheur-Raye and an even match for Spina in terms of size. The other two were lightweights of the type that the Spanish called Moscas de Muerte, "Flies of Death." Their goal was obviously to overtake and board Spina. They slowed slightly because of the two lightweights flying just behind her; the unfamiliar formation gave them pause, and that gave Spina a very short grace period.

"Spina, we're about to have company!" Rose said urgently. "Speed up so they can't overtake us!"

"I will not flee; I shall fight them!" Spina retorted. "That is why I am here. That is the entire reason why I exist."

"But we're outnumbered, outclassed, and out of position!" Rose nearly shouted. "We can't win! You've got to save yourself to lay eggs for the next generation! Spina, speed up and keep away from them! That's an order!"

The Longwing reluctantly forced herself through the air faster, going into a shallow dive to gain speed. She couldn't dive very far because she was barely three hundred feet above the water when the enemy dragons were sighted. St. Hubbins shouted to Mercurius and Rapide-flèche, "Get out of there! Save yourselves! There's nothing you can do against that brute!"

Rapide-flèche shook his head firmly. "I came here to protect my friend. I surrendered without a fight once; do not ask me to do it again!" From his flanking position, he suddenly flipped upward and flew straight at the Cauchador Real's face, upside-down. The bigger dragon flinched reflexively, which threw him off his attack path and slowed him down slightly. The tiny Pou-de-Ciel rolled right-side-up and passed just over the heavyweight's head; then they shot past each other, far too fast for the Spanish musketmen to take aim.

Mercurius tried to duplicate the Pou-de-Ciel's maneuver against the Leon de Guerre. He wasn't quite as nimble in the air as his French counterpart, but he didn't have to be, because the Spanish middleweight was more skittish. At the sight of a lightweight flying straight at him, he turned away and dove to wavetop height, which took him out of the battle completely; he barely avoided hitting the masts of one of his own ships with his wings. Now it was three against three, but the advantages of size and position still lay with the Spanish.

Rapide-flèche did a quick downward half-loop with a twist (a maneuver that future aviators would call a split-S) and labored to overtake the Spanish heavyweight. Coming up from behind and below, he was in the crewmen's blind spot; no one could shoot at him or throw anything at him. He tenaciously worked his way forward until his front claws could get a grip on the Cauchador Real's belly netting. He rolled upside-down again and, holding onto the net with his front feet, he began raking the much bigger dragon's underside with his hind claws. His total length was less than that of the Cauchador Real's forelegs, and dragon belly scales are tough. But even a Pou-de-Ciel's claws are fearsome weapons, and he began to inflict some pain and injury on his much bigger foe. The Cauchador Real roared and tried to claw at him, but he was in just the right place where the huge forelegs could not reach him, and use of the hind-legs would have ruined the bigger dragon's flight posture. His clawing motions threw him further off his interception course; the Spanish lightweights stayed with him, rather than trying to close with Spina.

The men in the belly-netting were more concerned with dodging the Pou-de-Ciel's foreclaws than with fighting back. At last, one of them drew a pistol and fired, inflicting a minor but painful wound in Rapide-flèche's shoulder. He could no longer hold on, so he dropped like a stone, barely dodging a swipe from a paw that was as big as his torso, and resumed flying just above the water. His role in the battle was over, but he had bought Spina five precious minutes.

Spina had used those minutes to accelerate to her full speed, which she turned into a slight gain in altitude. That speed was almost enough to pull away from the Spanish dragons. But the momentum that those Spanish dragons had gained in their initial dive was still telling in their favor. The musketmen on the heavyweight's back were now close enough to try shooting. Their gunshots sounded like harmless pops, but one of them put a tiny hole in Spina's right wing. She flinched for a moment, then resumed flapping for her life and the lives of her crew.

"They'll shoot again, as soon as they've reloaded," St. Hubbins called. "Spina, if you can weave from side to side without giving up any speed, you should do it. You'll be a more difficult target." The Longwing began a series of sinuous curves from left to right and back. Her movements were slow and predictable, but anything beyond flying straight and level was an improvement. St. Hubbins fired his pistol at one of the enemy musketmen, and missed. Rose passed him her pistol; he fired that and missed again.

Unnoticed amidst the rush of battle and the sound of gunfire, Mercurius had been working up underneath the Cauchador Real, just as Rapide-flèche had done. He grabbed the belly netting and began raking the bigger dragon's underside. But his position was slightly further aft than Rapide-flèche's had been, and the heavyweight's foreclaws were just able to reach him. Mercurius screamed as he fell, bleeding from a row of deep wounds in his side.

Without orders, Spina spun in mid-air and dove. Just for once, she was able to make a tight turn. Her maneuver was too fast for the heavyweight dragon to match; he passed just above her. The shocked Spanish belly-men recovered sufficiently to lob some gunpowder mines, and one of them struck Spina's right flank and exploded. Rose grunted and tried not to scream in pain from the shrapnel wounds to her leg; she knew that, if Spina thought her rider was in danger, she would take them out of the battle completely. Spina flinched from her own shrapnel injuries, but still managed to get underneath Mercurius and catch him as he landed limply across her back, barely missing St. Hubbins.

"It hurts!" Mercurius sobbed. "It hurts!"

"I will get you some help," Spina promised. "Rose, where should I take him?"

"You should drop him off on a ship," St. Hubbins answered. "We don't have time to get him back to the mainland. Ships have doctors on board, so they can do something for him."

"Those ships are in the middle of battle," Rose said through clenched teeth. "Their crews won't have time to stitch up an injured dragon."

"I will take him to my own ship," Spina decided. "They will not have joined the battle yet; they can help my friend." She wheeled about and searched to the west for a solitary ship. There were several such ships, as battle-damaged English warships dropped out of the fighting to repair their masts and rigging. It took her a few minutes to locate HMS Firedrake. By that time, the two Spanish lightweights had gotten on Spina's tail and were closing in fast, with the heavyweight behind them but laboring to catch up. Both lightweights carried a boarder in addition to their captains. The boarders' swords were drawn and ready; their free hands were on the releases for their harness carabiniers.

"We're out of escorts," St. Hubbins said grimly. "They're going to board us. Rose, you'll have to – ROSE! You're hurt!"

"It's not that bad," she tried to explain. "I'm just –"

 _"Rose is hurt?"_ Spina whipped her head around to see her rider. She looked left first and saw no injury. Then she turned to her right and saw the blood on Rose's shrapnel-torn pants.

Rose had seen Spina angry before, when the ground-crewman had tried to steal her gold ring. But that rage was nothing compared to the fury in the dragon's eyes now. Rose would later swear that the Longwing's eyes actually turned red. She roared, pulled up into a quick climb, and aimed back over her shoulder at the first Spaniards she saw, who were riding one of the two Spanish lightweights. That climb enabled her to put her head down slightly, and to shoot over Mercurius and St. Hubbins without endangering either of them.

The jet of venom passed just beside the Mosca de Muerte's neck and struck both rider and boarder full in the chest. They screamed, but the sheer amount of acid that hit them meant that their end was mercifully quick. The Spanish dragon spun and took her rider out of the battle, unaware that it was far too late to do anything for him. The other Mosca de Muerte had a quick discussion with his rider and followed his squadron-mate toward the nearest shore. Now it was down to the Longwing and the Cauchador Real.

"Whatever you do, don't let them get close enough to board us!" Rose begged.

"They will not get that close," Spina promised. "I will protect you." The problem was that the huge Spanish dragon was still higher than they were, and Spina could only shoot her venom downward. Climbing would be nearly impossible now because she had the weight of Mercurius on her back. But climbing was exactly what she had to do if she wanted to avoid being boarded, or if she wanted to shoot back at her attacker.

"Spina, turn left!" Rose suddenly exclaimed. The dragon obeyed without questioning her. They were heading back into the battle zone, but toward the north instead of the middle of it like they'd done before. After a few seconds, Spina exclaimed, "Rose, I see what you have in mind." She somehow found a bit more speed, and adjusted her course slightly further to the left.

"St. Hubbins!" Rose forced herself to shout. "Signal 'Engage the enemy more closely!'" St. Hubbins, who was still facing backwards, had no idea what was happening ahead of them. But he reached into the flag bag and bent on the standard two-flag signal.

"Rose, tell me what's going on," he called. "Who are we signaling to?"

"There's no time," Rose called. "David, put your head down... _now!"_ She pulled her own head down, Spina flattened her neck, and a moment later, a superheated blast of fire scorched the air just above them. They had closed the distance to Conflagratia's battle line, and the Flamme-de-Gloire had forcibly persuaded the Spanish dragon to give up the pursuit. The bigger dragon wasn't seriously hurt, but half of his crew were desperately trying to extinguish each other's flaming clothing, and the leather parts of his harness were badly burned and smoldering as well. He broke off and headed for shore. Spina descended and turned back; she was alone in the sky as she approached HMS Firedrake.

"David, I think I'm done giving orders," Rose said softly. "Spina... do what David says." She hugged the dragon's neck to hold herself up.

"Rose, are you all right?" St. Hubbins worried.

"I'll be okay. Look after Mercurius; he's hurt a lot worse than me."

They glided next to their patron ship. "Ahoy, the Firedrake! I'm glad to see that you got your rudder working," St. Hubbins called. "Can you help an injured lightweight dragon?"

"We have a doctor for humans," Lt. Paisley shouted back. "But dragons are our friends. We'll do what we can for him."

"Mercurius, can you glide down and land on that ship so they can help you?" St. Hubbins asked.

"I think so," the little dragon whimpered.

"Spina, slow down and fly next to the ship so Mercurius can glide from here to there." The Longwing did so. The mauled Greyling managed to slide off Spina's back, glide over to the ship, and make a rough landing on her deck, shaking the ship considerably. The lieutenant in command took one look at him and ordered, "Get the doctor. And the sailmaker; he's accustomed to stitching up large gashes in things. Maybe, together, they can put that dragon back together."

"It hurts," Mercurius whimpered.

Rodgers, the seaman who had been curious about Spina when the Firedrake had adopted her, stepped timidly over to the dragon. He'd seen a dragon up close only once before, but this one was smaller than Spina had been, and it was obviously in pain. The wounds looked ghastly; the sailor was amazed that the dragon was still conscious. "They're going to make you better," he said compassionately.

"Please help me," the Greyling gasped.

The rough sailor crouched down and stroked the dragon's neck. "They're going to help," he reassured him. "The doctor is coming now. He'll help you." He continued stroking and reassuring the dragon as the ship's sawbones checked out the injuries and reached for some opium to deaden the Greyling's pain.

Spina saw that her little friend was getting the best care he could get, and turned back to her captain. "Rose, how bad is it?" she asked anxiously.

"It won't be the death of me," she said tightly. "We came here because you have a battle to fight. Go fight it! I'll be all right."

"I do not believe you," Spina answered.

"Spina, your captain has given you an order!" St. Hubbins retorted. "I know you're worried about her; I'm worried about her too; but this is war and we have to fight while we can."

"What good is it to do my duty if my captain suffers?" the dragon demanded.

"Spina, please..." Rose was fighting for the strength to keep talking. "Take out another Spanish ship. Do it for me."

The dragon looked grim. "I will do that for you, and a great deal more!" She turned on a wingtip and raced back toward the battle. Some of the English ships were breaking off combat; they had run out of powder for their guns. The Armada had been outfought, but were they on the verge of escaping?

For the next fifteen minutes, Spina raced back and forth at masthead height, snapping out quick bursts of venom at the ships below her. Each burst severed the standing rigging on one or two masts, not enough to sink them, but certainly enough to cripple them. The few remaining Spanish dragons did not dare get too close and risk becoming the target of her venom attack, and she shrugged off the occasional musket ball from the ships. Her maneuvers were unpredictable, and they had the added benefit of taking pressure off of Conflagratia and her few remaining escorts. The fire-breather made good use of the space she was given, and added to the havoc that the acid-spitter was causing.

Spina sank no more ships that day. But, of all the warships she attacked, not one of them ever returned to Spain. All of them fell victim to the storms and the rocks of the Irish coast as they made their way home, too weakened by the Longwing's battle damage to survive the wrath of the Atlantic. Between Spina's acid damage, Conflagratia's fire damage, and the pounding that the Armada had received from the guns of the Royal Navy, it added up to a calamitous defeat for Spain.

As the battle petered out, Spina turned for home. They passed over HMS Firedrake again and waved; the crew waved back, except for the doctor and the sailmaker who were hard at work stitching up Mercurius. The unfortunate ship had never gotten into the fighting, but she had earned the appreciation of the Corps by aiding an injured dragon. They met up with Rapide-flèche about halfway home. He asked if he could ride on Spina, and permission was given. St. Hubbins did some simple first aid on the Pou-de-Ciel's shoulder wound as they flew.

"That was very bravely done," he said to the little dragon. "Your rider will be proud of you when he hears of this."

"Did it help Spina?" he asked.

"Yes, it helped me very much," Spina said over her shoulder. "You may have saved my life, and my riders' lives as well. You were as brave as any of the larger dragons."

Rapide-flèche didn't reply. He just lay his head down on Spina's back and sighed happily. Spina echoed his contented sigh, St. Hubbins grinned, and even Rose managed a wan smile. They had won.


	22. Chapter 22

**Every Thorn Has Its Rose** Chapter 22

Admiral Jack White, commander of the Aviator Corps, had an important job to do, now that the great battle was over. Some aspects of that job were a pleasure, and some were absolutely painful. He had to visit every dragon as they returned from the Battle of Gravelines, receive a report from their riders, say something appropriate, and decide what action, if any, needed to be taken. That was a pleasure in the case of dragons like Conflagratia, who had fought bravely and inflicted huge damage on their enemy. It was harder in the case of one entire wing of dragons who had flown back and forth across the battle area at high altitude and never engaged a foe. And it was much, much harder to comfort the badly-injured dragons, of whom there were too many. He saved the harder tasks for last. The hardest task of all would be dealing with the three dragons who had broken rules or defied orders to enter the battle in the first place.

He began with Mercurius, who had been carried from a Navy ship to the covert by a heavyweight. Of the three, his case would be the easiest to dispose. "Mercurius, do you know what could have happened when you left the breeding grounds without a rider or a harness?"

The dragon was still in pain. His bandages were stained dark, but the shipboard doctor had done a good job with his sutures, and a dragon doctor had decided that he would make a full recovery. The little dragon would probably fly again, once his injuries had healed properly. "Sir, I was hatched and raised to fight for England. How could I remain behind in our darkest time?"

"Of course you couldn't," the Admiral reassured him. "You did the right thing, even though you could have been killed by friends before ever you reached the battle. You were brave and you contributed to our victory. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"I want to fly and fight for England again," the Greyling said firmly. "I want a harness, and I want a rider."

"You have certainly earned both of those," White said. "I shall consult my list of young aviator cadets and find one who is well-suited to you."

"Sir, with respect, I do not want any of your cadets," Mercurius replied. "I want the sailor, Rodgers, who was so kind to me when I was hurt."

"A sailor?" White echoed. "It's hard to imagine a Navy man becoming an effective aviator if he hasn't been trained to the Corps all his life."

"He is the one I want," the dragon repeated. "I like him and he likes me. Can he do worse than the woman who rides Spina?"

"You make a point," the admiral shrugged. "Very well. I shall consult the Navy and see if they are willing to part with him. If they are, then you will have your chosen rider."

"Thank you, sir," Mercurius sighed. "May I rest now? I am frightfully tired."

"You may," White smiled. "You have earned that as well."

He now turned his attention to Rapide-flèche, who was sitting nearby, keeping a concerned watch over his Greyling wingmate. "I do not have the faintest idea what I ought to do with you," he began. "You are a captured enemy combatant, you were confined to the breeding ground, you never should have been anywhere near that battle... and yet you risked your life for England, you took on a heavyweight and, for a few minutes, you actually outfought him. I have never heard of such a feat before."

"I was protecting my friend," Rapide-flèche replied.

"So you were," the admiral nodded. "And you did a fine job of it, too. There are limits to how I might reward a dragon who is not even a member of the English Aviator Corps. Given those limits, what should I do with you?"

The Pou-de-Ciel didn't have to think long about that. "What I desire most is to have my capitaine back."

White nodded again. "If you both will give your parole, we will reunite you and allow you to return to France."

"But that is a problem," Rapide-flèche replied. "I like my life in the English breeding ground better than anything France would offer me. If we give our parole, they would put me in their own breeding ground, where the food is scanty and of poor quality, and assign my capitaine elsewhere, so I still could not fly with him. I do not know if that is what I should ask for."

"May I make a suggestion?" said St. Hubbins, who was nearby. "What if you reunite him with his rider, they gave their parole, and they stayed at Pen Y Fan instead of returning to France?"

"A French captain at an English breeding ground?" Admiral White wasn't ready for that. "I can only imagine what Their Lordships will say when they hear of it! Will this French captain live in a cave with his dragon?"

"No, sir, he could live in that barracks where Spina's officers used to live," St. Hubbins suggested. "It's empty now, right? And there shouldn't be any problem with him staying on English soil if he gives his parole. You could just... arrange things so his deportation paperwork gets lost, and mislaid, and delayed, and lost again."

"I would have to arrange for his rations, medical care, and a uniform allowance," the Admiral thought out loud. "It would be a budgetary expense; I could not hide that from the supply committees forever."

"You're already feeding him and caring for him in a prison camp," St. Hubbins reminded him. "Is there that much difference between a prisoner's rations and a soldier's rations?"

"I suppose not," White said, and made his decision. "Very well, Rapide-flèche; you shall have your rider back. You will be given a simple harness here, and one of the middleweights will escort you to the prison camp where your capitaine lives. There, you will claim him – I will send the paperwork with you – and you will take him to Pen Y Fan, where the two of you will remain until such time as you choose to return to France."

"Merci! Merci beaucoup, Amiral!" the Pou-ce-Ciel burst out. "You are a good man."

"In addition to that," White continued, "I will arrange for our breeders to give you a second look. I think it would be good to add your courage and determination to the bloodlines of some of our smaller breeds."

"I am unworthy of such an honor, Amiral," the little dragon said, but it was clear that he would not refuse such an offer.

"While you're here, St. Hubbins, I need a word with you as well. On the one hand, you disobeyed a direct order to remain at Loch Laggan with your dragon. On the other hand, you fought bravely and skilfully, and you made a significant contribution to our victory. Shall I throw the book at you, or award you a medal, or both?"

"Sir, I could not possibly offer you any guidance in such a case," St. Hubbins murmured. "I disobeyed orders, and I deserve no mercy."

"If it was anyone else, I would surely punish you to the full extent of the law," the Admiral growled. "But you are the senior rider on a dragon whose most noteworthy trait is her reluctance to obey orders. I can hardly blame you if Spina's attitude has begun to rub off on you. But that attitude cannot be allowed to affect you any longer. You are too useful an officer to constantly run the risk of disciplinary action. It seems to me that the best solution to your case is to offer you your own dragon, to get you away from the rebellious attitude of certain other dragons I shall not name. Which would you prefer, a lightweight or a middleweight?"

St. Hubbins hesitated before answering. "Sir, if you don't mind, I would strongly prefer to stay with Spina."

"That was not one of the choices I offered you, Captain," the admiral warned him.

"You offered me a middleweight, sir. Spina is a middleweight." Before the admiral could answer, St. Hubbins rushed on. "You know very well, sir, that Spina and Rose are more difficult to work with than most dragons and riders. England needs that dragon, but her services are not easy to acquire. I've learned to work with the two of them, and I am able – just barely – to get them to toe the line when necessary. If you replace me with someone else, what is the likelihood that the new senior rider will work well with the two of them? You saw what happened with Lt. Tufnel, and you've seen the reports from Loch Laggan; no other man is willing to work with a lady like Rose. Any man you put in my place will probably clash with them as badly as Tufnel did, with dire results for his own career and for the Corps as a whole. I do not wish to give myself airs, sir, but you need me on that dragon's back."

Admiral White considered that for a moment. "You realize, of course, that any other man in the Corps would give his right arm for the chance to acquire his own dragon? If you reject this offer, you will probably not get another chance."

"I understand that, sir. But I cannot imagine any other dragon who would be as thrilling to work with as Spina, even if she is not technically mine. I'm sure about this."

"Very well. I shall reward you, and punish you, by leaving you exactly where you are. And that brings me to you, Spina. I had almost gotten used to you disobeying orders from your senior rider, and from the breeding-ground master, and even from the captain of the training center. But when you disobeyed orders from the Admiralty, you set a new record for insubordination! And yet you fought magnificently, you justified the effort I put into arranging your breeding, and you saved the life of another dragon on top of that. What, pray tell, shall I do with you?"

"Perhaps you could mention me in dispatches?" Spina said, utterly unrepentant. "Rose leads me to believe that this would be a singular honor."

For just a moment, the Admiral's temper flared. Then he remembered who he was dealing with, and fought down a cynical laugh. "No, there will be no mentions for you. I cannot reward that kind of disobedience, no matter how much you made up for it in battle. Your name will not appear in any official histories, unlike Conflagratia who obeyed her orders. Nor can I mention Rose. The histories will record that we tried some alternate saddling arrangements for Longwings, and that Longwings were instrumental in defeating the Armada, without naming any names."

"Admiral White, sir, is that fair?" Spina fussed.

"Blast it, Spina, this isn't about fairness! This is a military organization. If I rewarded you for disobeying orders, then in no time at all, every dragon in the Corps would be doing whatever he thought best, and discipline and order would dissolve faster than one of your acid targets." His voice softened. "If anyone ever earned a mention, it would be you and your riders. Once you got into the battle, your actions were in the finest traditions of the Corps. Under other circumstances, I would most certainly mention you, all three of you, in dispatches, and there would be a monetary reward in addition. But I just cannot do that."

"I would settle for something small and shiny," Spina said hopefully.

"In that matter, I believe I can appease you," the admiral nodded. "Every dragon who took an active part in the Battle of Gravelines will be awarded a small gold medal for his or her service. You will be no exception, even though you disobeyed orders to join that battle. You shall have your small, shiny something." The dragon sighed happily.

The admiral went on, "Something else I will offer you is my thanks for your unconventional battle tactics. I've heard about how your V-formation helped to keep a stronger squadron out of boarding position. I am going to ask Captain Packard and Locutus to work out the implications of this formation with the next group of trainees. Your idea may transform the way the Corps fights."

"Thank you, Admiral White, sir," she replied. "There is one more thing I would ask, if I could."

"You don't think you've pushed me to the limit already? What else do you want?"

"I would like permission to visit the breeding grounds once a month, to visit my mother. I am full-sized now, so I can take her for a ride in the air. It would mean a lot to her, Admiral White, sir. And to me."

"Yes..." the admiral slowly nodded. "Yes, it would. Subject to the military situation, permission is granted. On one condition! Every now and then, you must take me with you so I can visit her as well."

"I accept your offer!" she said, her eyes shining. "Or is that an order?"

"It's an offer, you rebellious reptile!" the admiral shot back, with a hint of a smile. "I've learned my lesson with you."

"Good," she nodded. "Then I can obey it without Rose's help. Now, will someone tell me where she has gone?"

"She is still in hospital," the admiral said.

"Still?" St. Hubbins was surprised to hear that. "I thought her injuries were not life-threatening."

"They were not," White said, "but she lost a lot of blood. It was a near-run thing; had you brought her back fifteen or twenty minutes later than you did, she might not have made it. But she did... and I have heard that the surgeons were utterly shocked when they cut away her uniform trousers and saw that their patient was not a man!" He let himself smile. "I wish I could have seen their reactions. It would have been a sort of culmination of everything I have done to bring her into the service and harness her to Spina. No, she is still recovering, and they tell me it will be close to two weeks before she can walk with a cane."

"Will she walk normally?" St. Hubbins asked nervously. "Can she still serve in the Corps?"

"The doctors say she ought to make a full recovery. They said she is remarkably tough, for a woman." He turned to Spina. "I am making arrangements for her to be moved to a bed near a window, so you can visit with her. She asks for you constantly, Spina; she worries whether you are all right, and whether the authorities are trying to replace her with a man."

"I would never let that happen," Spina said firmly.

"Nor I," St. Hubbins added.

"After your performance in battle, it would be against my better judgment to try and take her away from you," the Admiral reassured them. "As a trio, you are insubordinate, you are disobedient, you are perpetually stepping over the lines of correct military behavior, and one of you has no business being in the military at all. You are also among the finest fighters I have ever had the pleasure of serving with, and so long as I am in command of the Aviator Corps, you need never fear being separated from one another." He stepped back and saluted St. Hubbins, who returned the salute after a moment. Then he saluted Spina, who lowered her head and said, "Sir."

Admiral Jack White let himself relax, just slightly. "My work here is done, then. You will get your orders soon. Those orders will probably involve returning to Loch Laggan to finish your interrupted training. Until then, rest easy. It may be the last rest you get for a very long time." He walked away, glancing over his shoulder every few seconds at the mighty dragons and brave men who did his bidding, sometimes at great personal cost. Some men might develop a swelled head over having that kind of power. To Admiral White, it made him feel small.

He thought about what he'd heard of the speech that the Queen had made to the troops at Tilbury while the outcome of the battle was still in doubt. It had been inspiring, and the men had cheered. Could he have made such a speech to his men and his dragons? If he had, he knew exactly what he would have said, and while it might have been just as inspiring, it would have been much, much shorter. But no one had suggested that he give a speech, so his words remained unspoken:

"Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few."


	23. Chapter 23

**Every Thorn Has Its Rose** Chapter 23

"Seaman Partridge, you are charged with drunkenness and disorderly conduct while on shore leave. How do you plead?"

The young sailor shuffled his feet and stared at the deck. "Guilty, I suppose, sir."

Lt. Paisley scowled. "There is no 'suppose' about it, sailor. You were caught in the act of carrying a tavern keeper's daughter up the gangway. I'd have you flogged and jailed for that, but fortunately for you, the witnesses all agree that the girl was not entirely unwilling. You are sentenced to one week on bread and water, and you are confined to the ship for the remainder of our stay in port. You've had a good record since you joined this ship, sailor. Don't let anything like this happen again. Dismissed! Bring the next case, please, Bosun." Partridge slumped away.

Lt. Bradley Paisley, commander of Her Majesty's ship Firedrake, did not enjoy presiding over these weekly sessions of Captain's Mast, dispensing justice to his crewmen for their assorted transgressions. He preferred to run a happy ship if he could. But sailors were a rough lot, and if discipline was not maintained, sloppiness and dereliction of duty would result; even mutiny was not impossible under such circumstances. So, for the good of the ship and her crew, he had to crack the whip. Literally, sometimes. That led his mind back to the next case. He looked up and nodded to the bosun, who also served the ship as master-at-arms.

The bosun stiffly announced, "Seaman Rodgers. Charged with dereliction of duty in battle."

"Rodgers, this is a most serious charge," the lieutenant began. "You left your station in the rigging to focus on the injured dragon. If you can give me a good reason why you abandoned your post in the middle of a fleet action, you will receive a thorough flogging and, possibly, a dishonorable discharge. If not, you will probably hang. Explain your actions, sailor."

Rodgers turned pale. "Well, sir, we weren't actually in battle yet, and the dragon was really hurt, so I –"

"You may begin," the lieutenant interrupted, "by removing your hat." Rodgers did so immediately.

"Sailor, it is not your job to decide whether we are really in battle or not. We were at battle stations, headed into battle, anticipating immediate action. You knew your duty and you had your orders. What if a Spanish dragon had dived on us while you were away from your station, sailor?" Rodgers had no answer.

Paisley unrolled a sheet of paper. "This is an order to convene a general court-martial, charging Ordinary Seaman Paul Rodgers with abandoning his post in time of battle. The verdict will surely be 'guilty as charged,' and the usual sentence for such a crime is for you to be hanged by the neck until you are dead. If I sign this paper, you're a dead man." Rodgers' knees began to weaken.

"However, there is one way out for you." Paisley pulled out another sheet of paper and paused for dramatic effect. "It seems that the dragon, Mercurius, is quite taken with you. He has requested that you become his rider and his captain. Sign this paper, Rodgers, and you will leave the Navy and immediately transfer to the Aviator Corps. The Navy will have no say over your fate anymore, and you will escape the noose. What say you?"

The sailor was having trouble processing all of this. "I don't know, sir. I mean, some of the things they say about aviators..."

"There is only one thing about aviators that concerns you," Paisley snapped. "They go flying on dragons instead of hanging from the yardarm. This is not a trick question, Rodgers! Will you sign?"

Rodgers hesitated. "Uhh... I don't know how to read or write, sir."

Paisley handed him the quill and pointed at the bottom of the paper. "Make an X, right there. The bosun and I are your witnesses." Rodgers took the quill and made a shaky X on the paper.

The lieutenant took the court-martial order and slowly ripped it in two. "Congratulations, Rodgers. You just saved your own life, and you started yourself down the path to an entirely new life as well. Gather your personal effects and report at once to the Southampton dragon covert for further orders. I suggest that you don't desert your post in the Aviator Corps, the way you did here. Admiral White is not as forgiving as I am." His voice dropped to a quieter tone. "I do not approve of men who neglect their duty. But I do approve of dragons and the men who ride them. Again, congratulations. Take good care of your beast, and never forget that you started in the senior service. That will be all. Dismissed!"

Ten minutes later, ex-seaman Paul Rodgers marched down the gangway with a small rucksack over his shoulder and a bounce in his step. He had passed from death to life, from the sea to the air, and from mindless drudgery to the fulfillment of his wildest dreams. He was going to ride a dragon!

"I guess that makes this a good day," he said to himself. His march became a swagger as he made his way down the docks.

 **o**

"I'm sorry, sir, but it would not be proper for a gentleman to visit a lady's room. Even in a hospital."

Captain St. Hubbins had been expecting this, and he had an answer ready. "Would it be all right if a nurse accompanied me, for the sake of propriety?"

The head nurse hesitated. "I'll ask the doctor," she decided, and left at a fast walk. St. Hubbins waited. He knew that a doctor wasn't qualified to decide whether or not a man ought to be allowed to visit an injured woman in the hospital; the head nurse was merely stalling, or perhaps hoping to pass the responsibility for a thorny problem off to someone else. Thorny... he suddenly recalled that scene when the first Longwing hatched and needed a name. Rose Smalls had come through that day, giving the dragon a name that meant "thorn," and she had never ceased to come through, no matter what kinds of problems she and Spina encountered. She had brought him along for the ride, and now they were both combat veterans, unsung national heroes, and partners on the most amazing dragon in the Aviator Corps. It seemed like such a long time ago that their wild ride had started...

The nurse reappeared after about ten minutes had passed. "The doctor says that you may visit Miss Smalls, but the door to her room must remain open, and an orderly is going to check on you every few minutes. I suggest that you behave like a gentleman, sir."

"I have every intention of doing that very thing, madam," he nodded, and followed the nurse down dark, twisting hallways, past dimly-lit wards full of injured sailors, to a small room near the end of the hall. True to Admiral White's promise, the room had a window, which was partly open. Rose Smalls lay on her back in the white-painted iron-framed bed, staring at the ceiling, looking rather pale.

"Good morning, Captain," he smiled as he stepped into the room.

"Good morning, sir," she replied, with barely a hint of the sparkle in her eyes that usually signaled some kind of mischief. She rolled onto her side and leaned on one elbow, keeping the covers up to her chin. "I'm glad to see you again. I wasn't sure if the Admiral was going to hang the both of us from a gibbet for disobeying orders."

"He certainly wasn't pleased, but we're both getting off with a full hide," St. Hubbins replied. He pulled up the one chair and sat down beside her. "You gave us all quite a turn, you know. You didn't tell us you were seriously hurt, so we didn't rush you out of the battle. You could have bled to death."

"I didn't think it was that serious," she replied. "Besides, we were there to fight, not to play nursemaid to a weak-livered former civilian."

"Weak-livered?" St. Hubbins exclaimed. "You were every bit as brave as any of the men on the other dragons! I'm told that Captain May got nicked on the arm by a musket ball, and he wanted to flee the battle at once! His dragon decided it was a minor wound, and he refused to quit the field as long as there were enemies to fight. As for you, even though you were wounded, you actually took control of Spina, and myself as well, and you led us through the latter part of the battle like a... like a dragon's captain. No man could have done better. You have nothing to be ashamed of, Rose."

She looked up at the ceiling. "Maybe not ashamed, but there's one thing that makes me nervous. If something had happened to me, what would have become of Spina?"

"If something had happened, I'm sure the Corps would have provided another captain for her."

"But what kind of captain?" Rose nearly pleaded as she looked back at him. "Do you seriously think that Their Lordships would allow another woman to get conscripted into the Corps, just to provide a female captain for Spina? After all the trouble I gave them? You and I both know they would have insisted on a man as her captain."

"And she would never have gone along with that," St. Hubbins continued. "She would have rejected every man they offered her, until they gave up."

"Without a captain, they would have removed her harness and stuck her in the breeding grounds," Rose finished. "She would have ended up just like her mother, lonely and bitter, and useless for anything except laying eggs. Spina deserves better than that, and so does England."

"That all sounds likely enough," St. Hubbins nodded, "but what can we do about it?"

She took two deep breaths and let them out. "The only thing I can think of is to clandestinely raise some young ladies in the Corps from an early age, just like we already raise the boys. That way, when Spina or one of her children needs a captain, there will be some girls at the ready who understand military discipline and are accustomed to being with dragons. They will be ready to step up when the need arises, and harness a Longwing, just like the young men harness the other dragons."

"That sounds utterly radical!" he exclaimed. Then he thought about it. "But it's not any more radical than what you've already been through. It would certainly be a lot less traumatic to the girls if they were raised as future dragon captains, rather than being swept into it on the spur of the moment. I suppose it makes sense. But the public outcry against it would be overwhelming. That's not how proper Englishmen raise their daughters."

She stared at him. Her eyes held a look he'd never seen before. "Then perhaps they should not be the daughters of proper Englishmen," she said softly. "Perhaps they should be the daughters of Corps officers."

"Well, if they lived their entire lives in the Corps, then no one on the outside would even notice their existence," he thought out loud. "That would avoid the appearance of scandal, and... and..."

...and he suddenly realized what she was suggesting, and his voice completely failed him.

For a few seconds, he just stared at her. How could she suggest such a thing? How could he even consider it? Perhaps he wasn't a proper English gentleman, but he still had moral standards! Did she mean to entice him? She was not an attractive woman, or a shapely one. She had no dowry, no influence, no social standing. She was strong-willed and could be very difficult to get along with. He felt no passion for her at all.

She returned his gaze. There was strength in that gaze. What had he and Captain Packard said about her, seemingly so long ago? "You like her, don't you?" Packard had said.

"I don't know about that, sir, but I respect her." Respect was worth a lot in a relationship, perhaps more than romantic feelings, and certainly more durable. After having flown into battle with her, that respect had only deepened. She was brave, intelligent, tougher than she looked, and flexible in her thinking. No, she wasn't beautiful, but she was certainly the most amazing woman he had ever met.

He finally found his voice. "Rose, are you suggesting... marriage?"

She smiled faintly. "No. That would never work out. I have to give all my time and my energy to Spina, and that leaves nothing for a husband. I just thought... perhaps, someday soon, when I am fully healed... perhaps we could do like the dragons do."

"Like the dragons do?" he repeated blankly.

"Could I... could I give you an egg?"

St. Hubbins glanced over his shoulder at the door, desperately hoping and praying with all his heart that this wasn't the moment that the orderly had stuck his head in the doorway and overheard their conversation. The doorway was empty. He actually shuddered with relief. He looked back at Rose and tried to come up with some kind of rationale for accepting or rejecting her suggestion.

He was already acquainted with the mysteries; he had visited the harlots' districts once or twice as a young ensign when he was assigned near London. He knew that such women tried very hard to avoid becoming gravid. Rose was suggesting the complete opposite. If the thing became known, they would both be socially disgraced. But Corps officers didn't move much in society anyway, so that wasn't much of a price to pay.

Who would raise the child? Could Rose balance the needs of motherhood with the needs of a dragon, if she couldn't manage the dragon and marriage together? He tried to imagine a cradle with a harness and carabiniers built-in, so the baby could ride Spina safely. If _that_ image became public knowledge, the Aviator Corps would become a public disgrace, if not a public laughingstock.

But it would be so much better for Spina if her future replacement captain was someone who looked and smelled like Rose Smalls! Could he put his own feelings aside and do what was best for that incredible dragon?

Rose was offering to bear his child. The idea thrilled him and terrified him.

He tried to stall for time. "What would Spina think of this idea of yours?"

"Actually, it was her idea, a long time ago. She thought I should give Lt. Tufnel an egg, which would have been the creepiest thing ever." She reached out and brushed her fingertips across the back of his hand, which gave him a chill. "But you're not Lt. Tufnel. You've been patient with my civilian ways, you've taught me the things I needed to know in order to succeed with Spina... and I think you were helping me behind my back in the training covert."

"Well, I might have shined your boots and polished your buttons a few times, after hours," he admitted.

"I know you're not a white knight in shining armor, ready to carry me off on your magnificent steed," she went on. "But we've already got the magnificent steed; I think she's sleeping just outside this window."

"Actually, I am very much awake and listening to every word," came Spina's voice through the window. Rose started; St. Hubbins nearly laughed. Spina continued, "It is an intriguing solution to a most unhappy problem. Pray continue." Rose took a breath and went on.

"Anyway, I'm not even looking for a white knight in shining armor. I just want a good man who will try to be gentle with me. You won't have to admit that the child is yours. Just be willing to take her into our flight crew as a runner when she's old enough. That way, Spina can get used to the idea of her being around. When the time comes for me to step down, our daughter can step right up. It's the best thing I can think of for Spina."

"That's quite a price you're willing to pay for a dragon," he observed.

"There's nothing I wouldn't do for her," Rose said firmly. "Except go to bed with Tufnel!" He tried hard not to smile at that.

"You don't have to decide right now," she continued. "They won't let me out of this confounded hospital for at least another week or two. Then we'll have to go back to Loch Laggan to finish what we started there, and then we'll be sent to a duty station. It might be quite a while before we can find time and a place to... well, you know." She flushed and looked at the ceiling again.

There was one more question he had to ask, even though he dreaded what the answer might be. "Rose, do you... do you love me?"

She looked back at him and smiled. "Perhaps I do," she nodded. "I suppose that, even after all this military training and battle experience, there's still something of a woman left inside of me. I don't expect you to feel the same way."

He hesitantly reached out and held her hand; she didn't resist. "I'm not sure how I feel," he admitted, "but I know I respect you. That has to count for something."

"Yes, it does," she nodded. "My mother once told me that respect is at the heart of every good relationship. Our lives are far from perfect. But perhaps the three of us can make our lives pretty good." Did she mean herself, him, and the baby? Or did she mean herself, him, and Spina?

 _She's probably right either way,_ he thought.


	24. Chapter 24

**Every Thorn Has Its Rose** Chapter 24

 _Ten months later_

Admiral White's surprise inspection tour of the Loch Laggan training covert was winding to a close, but he hadn't completed his real mission. The covert itself was in impeccable shape, as always. The sailor-turned-aviator, Rodgers, was slowly but steadily adapting to his new branch of the service, and Mercurius showed no signs of having been injured, aside from a triple row of scars on his flank that the other dragons regarded with a mix of curiosity and muted envy. The dragons and their riders had put on a display of precision flying that was impressive to laymen and dragon professionals alike. The newest fighting wing was even experimenting with the V-formation that Spina had invented, and it seemed to work well in nearly all circumstances. But his real intent was to visit Spina and her riders, and they were nowhere to be seen.

"I sent them out for special target practice, sir," Captain Packard had explained. "Spina told me that her venom glands were getting full and she needed to empty them, so I sent them to a rocky area where she can't destroy anything important. If I'd known you were coming, they would still be here."

"It's quite all right," the admiral nodded gruffly. "I'm sure they'll return soon. I'll wait. In the meantime, pray tell me how Spina's flight crew and ground crew are responding to a female captain."

"Well, sir, the situation is... interesting," Packard began. "Captain Smalls had a bit of a set-to with her new flight crew three days ago. She ordered a mid-air change in crew positions without running it through Captain St. Hubbins first, and no one moved. She immediately ordered Spina to break formation and land, whereupon she read the entire crew the Riot Act – in a very authoritative tone of voice, I might add. One of the topmen said he'd never obey orders from a woman, and a few others began to agree with him. That was when Spina gave them a rather nasty-sounding snarl, and that was the end of _that_ argy-bargy! Rose suggested that the next man who disobeyed her would be grounded and given dragon-ordure duty for a week. Then they returned to their formation, she repeated her order about the change of crew positions, and their obedience was a thing to behold. St. Hubbins held his peace throughout the encounter; I suppose he knew that this was a test which she had to pass on her own. They've given her no troubles since then, or at least none that I've heard of. But I suspect that they are not done challenging her."

"Interesting, indeed," the admiral nodded, secretly relieved. One of his last remaining worries about Spina's situation was whether a woman could successfully command men; evidently, this woman could. That was good news. He actually began to relax a bit. About twenty minutes later, an unmistakable long-winged shape hove into view, with two human silhouettes on her back. Spina landed lightly; Admiral White waited patiently as St. Hubbins dismounted, followed by Rose. They were not acting like a romantic couple, in spite of all the time they spent together. That was more good news.

Then he got a look at Rose from the side, and his relaxed morning fell apart. His breath caught in his throat. He could feel his blood pressure rocketing skyward.

"Admiral White, sir!" Spina was the first to greet him. "We were not expecting to see you here today. Is there a problem?"

"I was not aware of any problems when I arrived here," he said wearily. "But now I suspect that I may have been mistaken. Captain Smalls, will you _please_ be so kind as to reassure me that your... your altered contour is due solely to overeating and lack of exercise?"

"My contour?" She looked at him blankly for a moment, then glanced down at her burgeoning belly. "Oh, that. No, sir, it's exactly what it looks like. I am with child."

He sighed. He'd run out of anger at this preposterous situation months ago; all he had left was a sort of anguished despair. "Smalls, every time I think that you have pushed me to my limits, you find new ways to push me even further. I was almost getting used to that. But _this_... this is beyond the pale; it is simply unforgiveable. For the good of the service, I must insist that you resign from the Aviator Corps at once."

"I'm sorry, sir, but I can't do that. As you once said, you are authorized to conscript certain useful individuals into temporary service in times of national need. Does England still need Spina's services? If we do, then I cannot resign, for that would take Spina out of service as well."

"Don't play air-lawyer with me, Smalls! I brought you into the Corps, and I can take you out of it. As your admiral, I am requiring your resignation, effective immediately, before someone on the outside sees you like this and you bring disgrace upon the entire Corps."

Spina bent down to look him in the eye. "And what regulation allows you to do this to my rider, Admiral White, sir?"

He had to think fast; it was hard with a blast of dragon-breath fresh in his face. "I believe 'conduct unbecoming' will cover it nicely."

"You mean 'conduct unbecoming an officer and a gentleman?'" It was St. Hubbins' turn to jump into the confrontation. "She is no gentleman, as you can plainly see, so that regulation does not apply to her."

"Sir," Rose added, "I do not wish to push you to your limits. I've never tried to push anyone at all. But you must admit that there are no regulations in the rule book regarding pregnancy among Corps officers. And if my condition is not against regulations, then you cannot force me to resign over it."

For a count of five, Admiral White just stood there, glaring at her. At last, he turned to face St. Hubbins. "Why are you taking her side? Don't you realize that, if she steps down from the Corps, Spina will be all yours? I should think that you would... oh." His voice trailed off; he glanced from one captain to the other. " _Now_ I see what is happening here. After all the assurances you gave me that the two of you are not a couple, here is the proof that you have been lying to me, and I do _not_ like being lied to! I have just one question for the two of you: who enticed whom?"

"Neither of them enticed the other, and no one has lied to you," Spina answered for them. "Rose gave him an egg so that, if she ever becomes too old to ride me, someone who reminds me of her can step up and take her place."

"You... you... you _what?"_ White was not prepared for that revelation.

"That's correct, sir," Rose nodded. "I'm doing this for Spina. We're hoping for a girl."

This time, it took a count of seven before White could speak again. "Your... your motives may be noble, but this kind of gross immorality cannot be tolerated among Her Majesty's officers. Surely you can see that!"

"Sir," St. Hubbins replied, "if every aviator who fathered an illegitimate child was drummed out of the service, how many would be left in the Corps? Half of them, perhaps? You have always required Captain Smalls to obey the same rules and principles as any man; are you now going to make a special rule just for her?"

This situation was on the verge of getting out of hand. No, it was already far out of hand. Could anything at all be done to bring it, and her, back under control? "Packard! Have you done anything to deal with this situation?"

"Sir, your clear and explicit orders were to make an aviator out of Rose Smalls if she was capable of doing the job, and to let nothing and no one prevent her. I took you literally, sir."

"Bah! Of course you did. This certainly was not your fault. I should not have implied otherwise." The admiral tried another tack. "Rose, how can you expect to move in polite society if this is your case? The door of every decent home in England will be slammed in your face!"

"Yes, sir, that's true," she shrugged. "What of it? I have no friends in polite society, and I have never had any prospects of making such friends, so my condition costs me nothing in that regard. In truth, were I to number the beings whose approval means anything to me, I could count them on the fingers of one hand, with three fingers left over. Those two friends – one human and one dragon – are both here in this clearing, and I am convinced that they will be true to me to the end. Why should I care for the opinions of several millions of total strangers?"

"You have no regard for common decency whatsoever?" White snapped. "Well, I assure you, when I return to London, my first project will be to amend the book of regulations. This isn't what I conscripted you for, Captain. I must have your epaulets."

St. Hubbins had to respond to that. "Sir, with respect, we all know how slowly the military bureaucracy moves. By the time your changes to the regulations have been reviewed, edited, circulated for comment, returned, critiqued, debated, amended, counter-amended, and finally approved, the problem will have resolved itself because Rose will be delivered of her baby by then."

"And possibly the one after that," Spina added.

"Spina!" Rose gasped.

"What do you mean, the one after that?" White demanded. "Precisely how many bastards are you two planning to inflict upon the world? The last time I looked, Spina required but one captain."

"That is true, sir," Rose said respectfully, "but Spina will lay eggs, and those young dragons will require captains as well."

"Do you propose for yourself and your illegitimate offspring to become the sole riders of England's most powerful dragons?" White asked acidly. "That sort of family influence will be shot down by the Admiralty the moment it becomes known."

"I don't see anyone else stepping up to meet the need for women to ride Longwings," she answered mildly. "Someone's got to do it. And you can scarcely pretend that family influence has never played a role in Corps personnel assignments."

"Not only that, sir," St. Hubbins added, "but I have learned that Spina is not the only Longwing in existence. Our breeders didn't put all their eggs in one basket, if you will pardon the expression. There is at least one more Longwing egg from a different set of parents, incubating in another breeding ground. That dragon will require a captain, as will that dragon's offspring."

"And you are assuming that all of these Longwings will share Spina's preference for female captains?"

"It seems a reasonable assumption, sir," Rose said.

White hadn't considered that possibility, and now that he did consider it, it seemed all too likely. An entire species of dragons, all requiring women as their captains! What a perfect nightmare for the Personnel Office! Should he trust to luck, and hope that England's most powerful dragons would somehow find their own riders? Or should he look for suitable women in advance, and train them so that they would be ready when the eggs hatched? How many women would willingly abandon their dreams of home and hearth to submit to such a fate? Or... or should he put a blind eye to his telescope, and allow the Longwing breeding program to be accompanied and brought to completion by Rose Smalls' own breeding program?

This turn of events was so far beyond absurd, he had no words for it! How could Captain Smalls of the Aviator Corps willingly turn herself into a human brood mare? Had she no self-respect at all? And St. Hubbins – did he have no sense of propriety? Couldn't they at least get married? No, he already knew the answer to that question. Dragon captains almost never married; the daily demands of training and controlling a dragon left no time or energy for other relationships. Such marriages always led to unhappy, distracted dragon riders who made mistakes at the worst possible moment.

What was it she had said? "I'm doing this for Spina." That was a horrific price to pay for a dragon's friendship... but it wasn't a payment. A dragon's friendship could not be bought or earned; it could only be freely given and freely received. Once it had been received, it was irrevocable. So why was she doing this? Out of gratitude? No, it had to go deeper than that.

He consciously brought up some long-buried memories of his days as a young man riding Sirius, his beloved Malachite Reaper. If his own dragon had needed something, anything at all, would he have hesitated to do whatever was necessary to keep that amazing creature contented? No, of course he wouldn't. And he hadn't.

But... to bear a child?! A woman was supposed to bear children for her husband and for her family, not for a _dragon!_

Those old memories flooded back into his mind now. He remembered their first flight together, their many missions over the Channel, and those awful moments as the last of his dragon's life-blood had flowed out of those horrible wounds, and he had gasped his final words:

"My captain... you were... always... there for me."

Being there for his dragon had sometimes entailed paying a high price. Some of his decisions, had he made them today, would have cost him his post and his rank. But he'd never regretted any of it, then or now, because no matter what he'd had to do, the dragon was worth it.

Yes. The dragon was worth it. Every good dragon captain intuitively understood that simple truth, and Rose Smalls obviously understood it as well as any other rider. He couldn't even guess what paying Rose's price would mean to a woman. But Spina was Rose's dragon, and Rose had deemed that the dragon was worth it. That was the end of every argument he could muster.

He took a deep breath, hung his head, and sighed heavily. Surrendering was never easy. "Can you at least promise me that you'll do whatever it takes to avoid a scandal?"

"Honestly, we're not worried about that," Rose said. "We have no social contacts, so it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks of us or of what we're doing."

"Perhaps not, but if the Corps itself is scandalized, I will not be able to shield you from those consequences," the admiral warned her. "Parliament itself could become involved. They might come up with a way to view your actions as a national crime."

"I promise you, we will be discreet," St. Hubbins said. "I know of a midwife who will help Rose give birth without asking too many questions, and I have a married cousin who will raise the child until she is old enough to join Spina's crew as a runner. I even know a clergyman who will baptize the child into the Church of England with Rose's surname, so she can live without any social stigma."

"Humph. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound, I suppose," Admiral White grunted. "This will be the first child ever to grow up in a three-way family; she will have a father, a mother, and a dragon! In unprecedented circumstances such as those, she will need someone to look after her best interests. Someone with some power, someone with some influence; someone who can do the child some good if problems arise in a life that is certain to be as complicated as her parents' lives.

"I don't suppose you would consider me to be the child's godfather?"

Rose glanced at Captain St. Hubbins, who nodded. "We would be honored, sir."

"I do not know what a godfather is," Spina added, "but whatever it is, it is surely best to keep such things within the Corps."

"Spina, you never cease to amaze me!" White exclaimed. "For the first time _ever,_ you have come up with an unconventional idea that I agree with!"

"I suppose it was bound to happen eventually," Spina nodded. "But is that because I have changed, or because you have changed?"

Admiral White paused, and when he answered, it was with none of his usual gruffness. "I think every one of us has changed on account of you, Spina. Indeed, I think the entire Corps has changed, or will be changed, on your account. You demanded a woman for your captain, you picked a worthy one, and not a one of us is ever going to be the same."

 **o**

 _Epilogue: timeline of events_

1588: most of the events of this story (chapters 1-23) take place.

1589: the Epilogue (this chapter) takes place.

1590: Rose and David's egg "hatches" into a girl; Rose names her Iris. She bears an unmistakable resemblance to St. Hubbins. Rose eventually names all of her daughters after flowers, just like herself. She thereby starts a tradition which is unwittingly continued centuries later when a certain Longwing dragon is named after a flower.

1591: Spina lays her first egg, which was sired by the lecherous Sharpspitter in the breeding ground. This was by order of the Corps' master breeder, not by Spina's choosing, and she did her duty under protest. Also in 1591, Pope Gregory XIV releases an encyclical that denounces acid-spitting dragons as "a barbarous and un-Christian method of waging war." England offers no formal response. Rose Smalls' informal response is somewhat colorful, and can be summed up in this fashion: "On the day that the Pope also denounces the Spanish and French dragons who spit out the fires of Hell, that's the day when I'll take his words seriously."

1592: Spina's egg hatches. Queen Elizabeth I and her retinue are nearby as part of a royal progress, and the Queen has never seen a dragon hatching before, so she is invited to watch from a respectful distance. The baby dragon stuns the officers present by rejecting all of them, and showing a preference for one of the Queen's ladies-in-waiting instead. That lady (who, by an unfortunate coincidence, is named Rose) reluctantly becomes young Venenatus' friend and rider. Because she has no taint of disobedience about her, it is this lady who goes down in the history books as the first female rider of a Longwing. Admiral White warns Captain Packard to prepare to train another woman, and begins casting about for better ways to find female riders for future Longwings, just in case they all want women on board, as Rose and St. Hubbins had suggested.

1593: Rose and David "hatch" another egg. This one is a boy, Daniel, who is destined to serve in the Corps like his sister. Admiral White considers what Spina's riders are doing and what their goal is, recalls the second Longwing hatching, and reaches the conclusion that the female children of Corps officers could be brought up in the Corps to serve as Longwing riders. Rose and David read of his informal change of policy and smile. They were way ahead of him.

1595: Rose and David's third egg is another daughter, Flora.

1596: Spina's second egg hatches. Once again, the hatchling rejects all the men and demands a young woman to be her captain. The girls from the nearby village are presented to her, and she selects a goatherd named Penelope, who is almost as thrilled with this change in her station as she is with the dragon's friendship. Admiral White finally admits that preferring women is a trait of all Longwings, not a peculiarity to one or two of them. His decision to raise girls in the Corps begins to look like a good idea to some middle-ranked officers who were formerly hostile to the entire concept.

1597: Rose gives birth to a third daughter, Heather. David St. Hubbins remarks that he might be the first man ever to rejoice at so many daughters and so few sons. Rose replies, "It's too bad that King Henry VIII didn't know any Longwings. He would have been a much happier man."

1598: Eight-year-old Iris joins Spina's flight crew as a runner. She tries to look and act like a boy, but her secret is soon revealed. The other boys her age are curious about her, but not hostile like the adult officers. The idea of women serving beside men slowly becomes acceptable in the Corps, although some of the senior officers take their resistance with them to their graves.

1600: Rose Smalls marries David St. Hubbins. "I suppose it was inevitable," he admits. He formally adopts all of their children, who had used the surname Smalls up until now. The two of them don't have much time to spend together as a couple, but the time they spend riding and working with Spina helps make up for this. Theirs is one of the very few Corps marriages that actually works.

1601: Admiral White honorably retires from the service. He builds a small retirement home near the Pen Y Fan breeding ground so he can watch the dragons, and so he can visit Aurelia from time to time. His place as commander of the Aviator Corps is given to the newly-promoted Rear-Admiral John Luke Packard.

1602: During a visit to the breeding grounds with his family, young Daniel St. Hubbins meets Spina's mother, and the two of them connect emotionally. Captain St. Hubbins requests that his son be assigned to the breeding-ground crew, so he can spend time with Aurelia. Admiral Packard is pleased to grant the request, and adds that Admiral White (ret.) can take the young man under his wing and teach him how to get along with dragons. Packard is heard to mutter, "At last, I've found _something_ about this confounded situation that makes _sense!"_

1604: Iris St. Hubbins never gets her chance to become Spina's rider. Another Longwing, produced in a parallel effort by England's breeders, hatches prematurely; 14-year-old Iris, who was visiting her brother Daniel at the breeding ground, is the closest thing to a woman within ten miles. The girl and the dragon bond together on sight, Iris names her new friend Pandora, and they show the makings of a fine team. Admiral Packard considers whom he should assign as the new Longwing's senior rider, then shakes his head, mutters, "Oh, what's the use?" and recognizes Iris as Pandora's one and only captain. Rose begins grooming her second daughter Flora, now nine years old and serving as a runner, as her eventual replacement.

? ?: Is there a regulation in the Aviator Corps rule book which states that military officers who ride dragons are permitted to live happily ever after?

 _The End_

 **o**

 _A/N_  
 _...and another story comes to an end. It always makes me sad when I have to write "The End," even when I know the story is over. As I mentioned in the note for Chapter 2, I had intended for this story to be a one-off. But two reviewers asked for more, which surprised me. I will seldom ignore an appeal like that, as long as I have some ideas to write about. And those ideas came thick and fast once I started writing again._

 _This story is a "first" for me; it's the first time I've written a fanfic using all original characters. Well, sort of. The characters themselves are all original, but most of their names are not. Many of them are named for musicians:_

 _* Nigel Tufnel, David St. Hubbins, Derek Smalls, and Mick Shrimpton are the four band members in the movie "This Is Spinal Tap."_

 _* Josie Pye and Minnie Mae Barry, the women whom Spina rejects, are taken from "Anne of Green Gables."_

 _* Rose Smalls is original._

 _* Admiral Jack White is named for Jack White of The White Stripes. I don't care much for his music, but I wanted someone named Jack so Spina could use the line, "That's the fact, Jack!" from the movie "Stripes."_

 _* Lt. Keaggy, the dispatch rider, is named for Phil Keaggy, the renowned guitarist._

 _* Petty Officer Young, the ground crew chief, is named for Neil Young, who had a hit with "Heart of Gold," which is what the petty officer has._

 _* Payne, the ground crewman, is named for Freda Payne, who had a hit with "Band of Gold," which is what the ground crewman tried to steal._

 _* Commodore Starkey is named for Richard Starkey, the real name of Ringo Starr, formerly of the Beatles. There is no significance to this; I just wanted a different-sounding name._

 _* Jean-Jacques C'est-Poule is original. I chose the name because I originally planned to make him an unsavory character like Rankin, with a name that visually resembled the English word "cesspool." I eventually decided to make him a noble character, but by that time, I was accustomed to his name and decided not to change it._

 _* Captain Isaac Craunch, who was mentioned very briefly in Chapter 13, sounds like Cap'n Crunch, the breakfast cereal._

 _* Captain John Luke Packard comes straight from Capt. Jean-Luc Picard of "Star Trek: The Next Generation." The name of his dragon, Locutus, was the name that the Borg gave to Picard when they assimilated him._

 _* Lt. Bradley Paisley, skipper of HMS Firedrake, is named after Brad Paisley, the only country-western singer I really like._

 _* Pierre St. Pierre is original. His role starts out very similar to that of Choiseul in "His Majesty's Dragon;" I wonder if any of you expected him to be a traitor like Choiseul was._

 _* Brian May, Frederic Bulsara, Jonathan Deacon, and Roger Taylor are the members of the band Queen (Farouk Bulsara was Freddie Mercury's real name). The other trainee, Roy Baker, is named after Roy Thomas Baker, who produced most of Queen's albums._

 _* Rodgers, the sailor who was kind to Mercurius, is named for Paul Rodgers, who sang with Queen after Freddie Mercury's demise._

 _* Partridge, the sailor who is disciplined just before Rodgers, is named after The Partridge Family. That make-believe family band's reputation was squeaky-clean, so a drunk and disorderly sailor bearing their name is a deliberate contrast._

 _Some of the dragons' names (including Spina's) are authentic Latin, but the majority just sound that way, often for humorous or ironic effect. Rapide-flèche is French for "swift arrow."_

 _Spina's character is a sort of middle road, dragon-wise. She is less restrained than Temeraire, but nowhere near as out-of-control or self-centered as Iskierka. She is definitely a handful, but she can learn from her mistakes and she gradually becomes somewhat wise._

 _Admiral White's unspoken speech in Chapter 22 is a famous quote from Winston Churchill, referring to another group of heroic British aviators._

 _Chapter 24 started as nothing but a paragraph in the time-line epilogue. Just to amuse myself, I started to write out this latest confrontation between Rose and Admiral White, intending to make it an expanded section of the time line. But I hadn't gotten far before I realized I had enough ideas to make a whole new chapter out of it._

 _I extend a special "thank you" to Erikstrulove, for your frequent thoughtful reviews. In fact, yours were the only reviews I received, except for one at the very beginning and one complaining about weak soldiers in Chapter 9. You made this story happen. If not for your interest, I might not have gotten past Chapter 1, and I certainly would not have been completed the tale._


End file.
